Chapter Nine

  A Rat in the Library of St. Albert

  They spent many days in the palace of Governor Constantin Gil, refreshing their bodies and spirits with good, warm bread and fine, sweet wine. Their clothes were stitched and cleaned, aside from Kugo’s outermost wear, and after so long, it was hard to imagine they had ever looked so nice. And once their bodies were healed from their many days of travel, a carriage would be arranged to take them first to the Studium of St. Albert, perhaps the highest library in all the lands, and then to return to the imperial palace.

  As they packed their things, Nephis hummed to herself and was quite cheery, with a bright face and a carefree expression. “The Studium of St. Albert! Do you think they’ll have anything?” she asked.

  “I imagine they’ll have books,” Kugo answered in a dry tone.

  “On the Vallai Kei!” Nephis huffed, “If I wanted humor, I would have hired a jester.”

  “Well, if you were looking for tall tales, you should have hired a drunkard,” Kugo replied.

  “Why! After all we’ve seen, you still doubt me? You think I’m stupid!” Nephis whinged and grit her teeth.

  Kugo chuckled for the first time in days. It was as if the dark shadow that had been clinging to his chest finally lost the last of its strength. “I don’t think I’m paid enough to think of you as wise.”

  “Hmph!” Nephis ignored him as obviously as she could manage and continued to pack her few and light things with delicate grace.

  “You are smiling,” Moss told Kugo.

  “What?” Kugo said.

  “You are smiling,” Moss said, “I am glad.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Kugo muttered, and he rolled his mouth until his face was straight.

  They were treated to a final meal with the governor before the cart and horses were readied. It was a fine cart, a dull blue and copper with plenty of room for the three of them, Moss included. At its helm were three strong horses, with high gaits and long, full manes. Each was the color of soil. This breed was the mares of prominent knights and goodly lords, for them to ferry a cart was an unusual omen.

  As they piled into the carriage, they were surprised to find many baskets full of good food. Dried meats and good, white bread, wine and cheeses, even fruit and cakes to nourish them along the first days of the journey home. “Consider these a parting gift,” the Governor said, a twinkle in his sea green eyes, “For your wonderful tales and company. Should I ever visit your father’s house again, I will be sure to greet you especially.”

  “And I will be sure to pay you in kind, for all you have done for us,” Nephis said with a polite nod. “And on my return, I will tell my father that you were the kindest and most hospitable of all his servants.”

  And Governor Constantin Gil left them with a bow.

  A small collection of guards traveled with them, three or four, so that they might go with peace of mind. The carriage was wide, with plush seats and even a small, iron lantern which hung from the ceiling. Nephis sank into her seat, and Moss seemed glad for the space, spreading his knees as far as they might go. But Kugo sat very still, his gloved hands in his lap.

  “Well, go on, Kugo, it’s only us. Relax,” Nephis assuaged him.

  “Hm? I suppose,” he muttered.

  “What is the matter?” Nephis asked, “Have you never been in a carriage before?”

  Kugo did not answer.

  “You haven’t, have you?” Nephis exclaimed. “You don’t need to be so stiff, take off your mask if you like, they won’t bother us. But your back is going to be terribly sore if you sit like that the whole way,” she said with a snicker. And so Kugo sank a little deeper into his seat and came to rest a while.

  They traveled for half a week in good spirits. The weather was fair, and the places to rest agreeable and dry. The Governor had paid for all their needs, the party, the driver, the guards, and the horses were all accounted for. And though far travel was harsh in any form, this was as close as it came to luxury. They fared so well that Nephis began to forget the hard roots and stones of life on the road, and even came to miss the cool nights and the soft grass.

  Soon they came to the college, the Studium of St. Albert. It was a mighty place, fat and tall, made with great stones each as high as a man. Its windows were skinny and tinted green, so that the harshest lights might not ruin the tomes within. The college splayed out like the spokes of a wheel or the teeth of a cog, with the highest and greatest chamber being its centermost, which was capped by a small, windowless attic. The grounds were teeming with students of every age, having traveled from a hundred miles or more in any direction, all to study from some of the greatest minds of the empire. Each of them bore a bronze medal pinned to their chest.

  As they approached, Moss glanced around at all the people. Most were young, but a few were well on in years, and some even grey in the hair. “What is this place?” Moss asked. He had never seen so many people of a singular mind.

  “This is an academy,” Nephis answered, “A place of learning.”

  “I should like to learn at an academy,” Moss echoed, “What sort of people learn?”

  “Every sort of person learns,” Nephis corrected him, “But these are students. Most are children of the nobility or clergy, but some belong to merchant houses, and a spare few are common folk, plucked out of their village for their superior intellect, raised to the Verdant.” Green was the color of scholars. It was by no means a requirement, but many took to incorporating the color into their attire out of pride. “And I would say you’re already dressing the part,” and she tried to flick gently at Moss’ head, though she could not quite reach it.

  “Did you attend St. Albert’s?” Kugo asked.

  “I did not. I received the most qualified tutors in this or any land,” she bragged, “My family was certain to educate me and all my siblings in all manner of statecraft, philosophy, and history; everything and more than what could be expected at such a school.”

  The doors to the library were so tall and great that not a single man could open them, and so they were kept open throughout the day. Behind them was a statue garden that served to break up the students and any debris floating through. Before them was the library itself, startlingly tall, with many floors and many more shelves. The tomes and scrolls were piled up into the high lofts, and a great many lanterns were lit, concealed in glass, but even still, the halls and floor were dim. At all hours but night, it seemed like the early, green morning.

  In the entrance was a lectern, ten feet high and twice as wide, where a young woman sat. She had before her a great tome, a wooden wand, and a bowl of small fish which swam quite happily. She peered at the three of them before calling down.

  “Who are you?” she asked, “If you are new students, please return with your medal.”

  Nephis cleared her throat, “I am Nephis Florescu, of House Radina,” she presented her silver ring, “I assure you, this is enough.”

  The young librarian blinked in disbelief, like the clattering of a nail from a candle, as she tried to wake herself up. And indeed, many of the students all around began to murmur in fear and excitement that someone of the imperial family was here. She hurried down to inspect the ring, and just as soon called for another librarian to attend to them. The three of them were hurried to the chambers of Proctoress Miratre of Vede. They were told to wait a while before the librarian scurried into the office to inform the Proctoress in a panic of who had dropped in unannounced.

  Not after long, the three of them were graciously welcomed into the room by an old and withered woman, whose hair was split into three parts. She wore a dress of green and red. “Welcome, your highness. I am Miratre, the proctor of St. Albert’s Order of Librarians. It is a great honor.” She had cold and sharp eyes, with ever-upturned eyebrows and lips that curled, but never truly smiled.

  “Indeed, it is,” Nephis said with weary eyes and a trained, cold expression.

  The room was grand and open, with many shelves and many letters. Along one end was a cabinet locked with a great chain, and across was a bowl of fish, swimming forever in one direction, shimmering in the low light. There were many small trinkets and baubles, but nothing in the room seemed cheap, only far too in place. Each book was an inch apart; nowhere did anything, except by gravity, touch. Stranger still, it seemed not the room of an acclaimed academic, lacking all personal oddities and estranged taste; but rather, it was the room of a socialite who was born yesterday. Everything was in the current fashion, and nothing was outside of it.

  “And to what do I owe the great honor, Princess Florescu. It has been many years since I have had such a high and noble visitor. I believe the last was a brother of yours, very handsome as you all are. Have you perhaps come to teach a lesson?” she lavished praise on Nephis, extolling her every virtue until it seemed impossible for Nephis’ chest to rise any higher. “I am certain you could teach our tutors much.” “You must tell me where to find such robes. Are they the new fashion?” And so on.

  “No, I have come here looking for a manuscript,” Nephis shook herself from the flattery. It’s all it was, and she knew it. “I would like to see any manuscript you have on the Vallai Kei, preferably from the Black Period.”

  “The Vallai Kei?” Proctoress Miratre asked in confusion, before wiping her face to the same old half smile, “I believe we have some regarding that. And we do indeed have a small trove of writings from the Black Period. Though I must consult our indexes on whether any are both.” And the proctor quickly retreated to a backroom, returning a short while later. “Indeed, it seems we have one manuscript that fits your description. “Canticum Caeli et Terrae, The Song of Heaven and Earth. I must say, I know little about the work, but why don’t we go and discover that ourselves?” she said with a smile. “Or might you prefer lunch first? I can call my cooks to arrange something for you?”

  “Thank you for your offer, the book is fine,” Nephis replied.

  “As you wish,” the proctor said with a bow. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must change. I couldn’t let my students see me like this.”

  Nephis was unsure what she meant. Proctoress Miratre looked perfectly fine and stately, with nary a thread out of place.

  Miratre unlocked the great wardrobe and from it pulled a long and heavy black fur, that of a great wolf, the head still flopping around from the front. She pulled the skin over herself and, with a withered hand, reached into the fishbowl and plucked one out.

  Bend moonlight, to my call. Twist what is known. As the moonlight pulls the waters, so too pull my form. Howl. Howl. Howl.

  And with that spell, Proctoress Miratre doubled over and gasped for air with a rattling, hoarse voice. Her bones cracked and snapped into new place. Her skin pulled itself tighter and redder around her skull. Her grey hair, like ink spilling down a page, became as black as raven feathers. Her sagging form became supple, until she was round of chest, and face, and leg, and every desirable part. And when she stood up, she stood up taller. Proctoress Miratre was no longer a withered hag, but a most beautiful woman, with red lips and a tender face. The fur robe had melded into her form, as if it never existed at all.

  “Forgive me, your highness,” she said in a saccharine voice, “You of all people must understand the importance of impressions,” she finished with a most hollow laugh, like the wind in a jar. She dropped the fish onto the counter. It was dry and withered, having seemed desiccated for many years now. “Now come along, I haven’t a moment to waste. And I must ask, that construct, is he of your own design?” For the first time, a question of her’s seemed genuine.

  “Indeed, he is,” Nephis flatly lied, the truth might have brought far too many questions. Her mind was still recovering from the sudden transformation.

  As they made their way out of the office, Kugo leaned down to Nephis. “Do you suppose they are accepting new students?” he asked.

  Nephis looked at Kugo in disappointment. “What a lousy monk you are. And besides, I can assure you they do not teach magecraft at such an institution.”

  As soon as Proctoress Miratre opened the door, she was greeted by a chorus of students, “Good afternoon, Lady Luminita!” “Professor Luminita, could you help me?” “Miss Luminita, my father would very much like to speak with you!”

  “Good day, students, little ones! I shall attend to all your struggles shortly, but I have a very special guest to escort. I will tell you all about it in our next class,” she spoke in a rich and seductive voice, far different from the submissive bleating before.

  Nephis could not help but notice the throng of young boys that followed her doggedly, and had half a mind to spill her secret. However, it did little good to offend the hand that was helping her. And so she bit her cheek and trained her eyes elsewhere, then falling upon the bronze brazier by the entrance. And as she did, she noticed it was inscribed by thin runes all along its rim.

  “Lady . . . Luminita,” Nephis called her, “What is the purpose of that brazier? It seems a dangerous thing in such a delicate place.”

  “The Lamp of Bachlzotz? A fine eye for the obscure, madame,” she said. Nephis was unsure if this was an insult or not. “It is quite the device,” Lady Luminita continued, “If the writing along its edge is chanted, one might activate its spell. It is quite an ancient device, one from that very same Black Period you were asking about. Its inner workings are not understood, but the outcome is most marvelous. If the brazier is fed silver chains, nothing else, it will seal all the doors and windows in this building. It will do this in whatever building it is placed in, no matter the size.” The proctoress sighed, “So much is lost, so much skill gone. But that is why it is up to us to return to that most golden era, where even age could be undone, if rumors are true.”

  Moss looked at the bronze device intently. “Where did you find it?” he asked.

  The proctoress and all the students jumped. “It speaks! My dear, you might be the finest mind of a thousand years!” And all the students ooed and aahed, the murmurings returning. “Well, fair servant, the brazier was found in the Valley de Fier, deep in a terrible tomb. It’s good they ran out of metal, or we never would have found it!” she joked, and many of the students laughed along.

  “Was it made by elves?” Moss asked, now more curious.

  “Elves?” she asked, “What a well learned device you are. That is one theory, but the writing is in Old Radinian. A terribly twisted tongue. It is hard to believe it is related to ours at all!”

  Moss nodded quietly.

  Eventually, Miratre hurried them up one of the many long and spiraling stairs. They passed by many floors and chambers until they came to a small room at the highest point of the library. Against the top of the stairs stood two great and heavy doors, inlaid with deep and shadowed carvings of the stars. Beneath the stars were praying figures, their heads bowed in simple supplication. But guarding the doors were two tall men. They were dressed in iron chain and a green and yellow tabard with the symbols of Saint Albert, the dagger and the eye. Seeing the proctor's glittering, gold crest, the guards pushed open the heavy doors, revealing a small, humble chamber that was separated from the archives by only an archway.

  Seated by the door, carefully transcribing a manuscript was a monk, a pale, serene man whose eyes hardly flicked up to greet them. The Proctoress announced their presence. “Brother Alexandru, I have brought these patrons to peruse the archives.” And she offered him the petal of a rose, for this was the custom.

  The monk set down his quill and graciously accepted the petal. “Lady Miratre, come and learn freely.”

  Miratre coughed. “Ahem.”

  “What is it, Proctoress?” the monk asked.

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  “Who is Lady Miratre?” she asked in an innocent voice and batted her overly long eyelashes.

  “It does not do a servant of God well to lie,” he mildly reprimanded her and returned to his transcription.

  Lady Miratre led them into the archives, though her footfalls were a little heavier than before.

  The archives were arranged as a theatre in the round, with all the shelves outside of a small middle section, where the faint morning light pierced through the old roof, slipping beneath shingles like a dagger under armor. And in the round section was a long table for reading and transcribing. The rest of the chamber was dark, terribly dark, and the proctoress carried with them a lantern fitted with thick, dark blue glass and a single, little candle. She took with her a great ring of keys that rang out with every step. For each shelf and each manuscript, whether tome or scroll or tablet, was locked and bound with heavy chain and veiled in black cloth. The room was stuffed with shelves and books, which rose up into the very ceiling. It was a room of silent geists. And these spirits seemed to whisper, like the chittering of mice, like the sound of scraping metal faintly thrumming in the air.

  “I believe it should be just in these back shelves,” Lady Miratre said, her ear catching the strange sound only now.

  And then, the sound stopped.

  And as they came to the aisle, she gasped, for high upon the wall were cut chains and a ladder. “It’s gone!” she exclaimed.

  Heavy footfalls thundered through the aisle, boots slamming the wooden floor. And a man spoke strange, unknowable words.

  Rippling water. Rippled mirror. Tired mind, cloak me in thy mantle.

  Nephis and Kugo spun around to try and catch whoever it might be, only to see Nephis herself, a book under her arm, rushing through the center stage. Nephis, the real one, in the horror of seeing herself raised a hand and began to chant a spell. Kugo slapped her hand down, “Look where you are!” And she came to her senses. The false Nephis stuck out a tongue and rushed through the archway. The pair of them rushed after her, but the proctoress marched out in a fury, “Catch the whelp!” she demanded, but it was too late. The changling had already rushed down the stairs and out of sight.

  Professor Luminita was seen that day, hanging over the railings of the stairs, bellowing in a horrible voice. “Light the brazier! There is a thief in St. Alberts!”

  Immediately, panic set in among the students, and many tried to rush for the doors, but the librarians and guards were quick. The librarian sitting at the lectern thrust her hand into the bowl and cast a spell to slam the doors shut. And soon, a collection of librarians, guards, and professors were stopping up the way out of the library until the silver chain could be found.

  Nephis touched her face, as if to check if she was still herself. She whipped around to Kugo, “I’m still here, right? He didn’t take my face, did he?”

  “You’re still you,” he assuaged her. And they were escorted back to Proctoress Miratre’s office.

  Soon, the chain was brought under heavy guard to the Lamp of Bachlzotz. A mage stood before it, he had great and heavy sleeves. Those that were near him would later swear he held in his fingers a white, bone wand. And through the roar of protests, he began to chant, the words twisting through the air and as he did, the brazier began to smoke. Black and blue the cloud rose, filling the library. The doors rattled on their hinges, and the fragile windows shook in their frames. And with quaking hands, a link was snapped from the silver chain and thrown in the fire. Steel light flashed in the brazier! The smoke coiled and split, like snakes, the tendrils shot to every door and window along the library walls. A cry of terror and despair rose from the student body. They were locked within the tomb.

  Nephis paced back and forth in the office, touching her face, feeling the shape of her own round nose and soft cheeks. It was a man’s voice she heard, most certainly. But she had not seen him. Yet had he seen her? The monk Alexandru had sworn he had seen no one enter that day apart from themselves. Was he a liar? Or was the mage really so great as to walk unseen?

  “What are we going to do?” Nephis asked.

  Kugo was silent. This was now the third person they had come across seeking after the Stone of the King. All of them were troublesome people. And a part of him began to truly doubt his own doubt. Perhaps indeed there was some truth to the old legend.

  “Are you listening to me?” Nephis shook him by the arm, “He’s taken the book! Do you think a thief should be let closer to the Vallai Kei? Do you have no pride in your vocation? And he’s stolen my face!” she berated him.

  “Fine!” he exclaimed, “But a man who can do such things is troublesome. To take another appearance at a glance, or even without seeing you.”

  Nephis grew even more worried. “Without seeing me? Do you think that’s possible? Who knows what else he can do, what he knows?”

  Moss was deep in his own thoughts this whole time, scratching at his jaw with his great claws. “Why did she have your clothes?” Moss asked.

  “The copy of me?” Nephis clarified, “It was an illusion! Or perhaps a transformation?”

  “Copy?” Moss asked.

  “Yes, it looked just like me!”

  “She didn’t look like you,” Moss stated.

  “What do you mean?” Kugo asked.

  “The face was all wrong,” Moss explained. And Moss explained to the best of his ability how the impostor’s face appeared. How the nose was far too long and the eyes the wrong shape, and the lips all too thin. Even the hair was not quite right, falling much past her shoulders and too greatly exaggerated.

  “Perhaps he really did see you,” Kugo suggested, “But only for a moment.”

  Nephis sighed, the anxiety exercised from her body, “You must be right,” she said, “But that still does not explain how he got in. Do you have any ideas?” she asked Kugo.

  “What if he apparated?” Kugo suggested, growing more animated and a little excited, “What if he used magic and stepped in from another place!”

  “That’s not possible,” Nephis said, “There is no spell to move from place to place like that. Not that any I have ever heard of, at least. And from what my tutors taught me, it should not be possible, or at least you risk ripping yourself into pieces trying to. That is the realm of miracles and gods.”

  Kugo slouched the smallest bit.

  “Do you have any ideas, Moss?” Nephis asked.

  Moss shrugged.

  Suddenly, the door slammed open and shut, and Professor Luminita pressed her back against the door, heaving for air and slouching to the ground. No. Her whole body was slouching. This skin seemed to melt and her flesh shriveled. Her round parts sloughed off from her like a knife to wet clay. “I’m sorry for this unsightly appearance!” she shrieked, “These damnable fish hardly keep the spell alive for any time at all.” And she began to hobble to the fishbowl, her wrinkled, ugly form peeking from beneath smooth skin. She thrust a half-formed hand into the bowl and cast the spell again, her voice warping and warbling between young and old. Her body rearranged itself back into the beautiful, flawless form of Lady Luminita.

  “Now, if you excuse me, I must return to tending to the students,” she said, “And the hunt, of course.”

  “We will come along,” Nephis said, “I’ll help catch him.”

  “No!” Miratre reprimanded her, “I can’t have the Emperor’s daughter hurt in my school!”

  “Lady Luminita, it is very important that I find this book,” Nephis said matter-of-factly, “You would be doing a very great favor to me, and by extension, my father.”

  Proctoress Miratre had a cold, silver glint in her false eyes. “Of course, your highness! I would not deign to keep you hemmed in! Do as you will, and if you need anything at all, only ask!”

  “I will keep that in mind, Lady Luminita,” Nephis said with a polite smile and nod.

  As they left the room, they found the entrance hall packed like salt pork to a barrel. Students pressed in on each other as desperate guards, hardly trained for battle, let alone a riot, pushed back. The brazier glowed with that ghostly, grey light. The keeper of the silver chain had her back pressed against sealed doors, a link ready in her hands. Nephis watched as another link was cut from the already short chain and was fed to Bachlzotz. She assumed the brazier was only an assurance of the heart, with little more than enough chain to run for help. Silver was expensive, after all, let alone a strange thing like silver chain. The chain only had five links left, and another was fed to the fire.

  Kugo toyed with the dagger beneath his shirt, nervously wringing its leather grip. An oft-repeated proverb from his abbot echoed in his mind, “If you seek trouble, you will find it.” The thief could have been anywhere in the library, anywhere in the crowd. And what a terrible crowd it was, like a wall of flesh, crushing and pressing anyone unlucky enough to be caught in the middle. Their hollering filled the air and echoed up into the vaulted ceiling. Their man could have been anywhere and could have been anyone.

  “Where to begin?” Kugo muttered to Nephis, “How do you even find a man like that? And if he’s found his way inside unseen, who is to say he cannot find his way out?”

  But Nephis’ eyes were on the brazier and the chains, and then she came to a realization, “Kugo, do you recall the fish?” she asked, “Those ‘damnable fish’? And do you recall what I taught you about magecraft?”

  “The spell!” Kugo exclaimed, though in the noise no one would hardly notice, “It won’t stay around for long, unless he was hiding something terrible,” but then he paused, a moment of doubt clouding his voice, “But what if he is like you? A sorcerer. Or if he is like that man in the cathedral, the servant of Wadiam, the knowing one, with bones and hair?”

  Nephis frowned and furrowed her brows, “I don’t deny it’s possible, but it’s not likely. There are so very few like me, I should not be surprised if there are only a few hundred in the entire empire, and most will die before they are fully grown. And any mage wealthy enough to have a . . . catalyst would not need to steal.”

  “So he doesn’t have long then,” Kugo surmised, “Or as far as we can hope.”

  “And if I were looking to escape quickly, where would I go first?” she held out her hand to the front door.

  “And if I was looking to speak and not be heard, what better place than a crowd,” Kugo added.

  “But how to search them,” Nephis mumbled, “And how to get through them?”

  Moss watched as Nephis and Kugo struggled before an obvious answer, and with his great hands, he grabbed Nephis under the arms and set her atop his shoulders. And he began to walk into the crowd, splitting them as a stone to a river.

  “Oh! Thank you, Moss,” she praised him.

  “My pleasure,” he answered.

  Some of the crowd had stopped their rioting out of fear, but most hardly seemed to notice. Nephis tried once to get the crowd's attention, and then again to get the Proctoress’ attention, but the chaos was too great. But steeling her face and puffing up her chest, she put on the mantle that her father taught her. “SILENCE!” she bellowed with burning eyes, and though her voice was small, the crowd fell silent. It was a menacing sight, a young woman in scarlet atop a monster, a demon-masked guardian at her side. She stretched out her hand so that her silver ring might show. “I am Nephis Florescu, thirteenth of the Emperor of all of Radina. Remain still. There is a thief among you. My servant will check each of you. Do not resist.”

  And the crowd did not dare move a muscle, for fear and burning.

  Kugo whispered to Nephis, “How am I supposed to know what to look for?” he asked.

  “I am unsure,” she replied, “Small animals perhaps? Stolen books?”

  Kugo grumbled, but did as she suggested. If the fur had melted into the proctoress’ body, there was no reason the book or anything could not do the same. Though the false-Nephis was carrying the book, so perhaps it was different. But he began to check each student, one-by-one, beneath their cloaks and in their bags. It was a slow-going process, and two more chains were spent before he was more than two rows deep, if you could call them rows.

  But then, someone in the crowd let out a small, frightened “yip!” far in the center and back of the students. “A rat!” she exclaimed. And a student clad in green fled from the crowd, a great bag under his arm.

  The three of them rushed after him. He sprinted down the great and vaulted halls and up the stairs with all alacrity. And they had nearly caught him too, chasing him to a balcony that overlooked a great drop, overlooking a sea of bookcases and a mass of students. He stopped for a moment, looking to his right and left for a way out, but as they rushed closer, he looked behind and then ahead. For far ahead of him was another balcony at another wing of the library. And he stepped back and leapt over the balcony and across the far-too-wide chasm snatching a hold of the railing, the wooden dowels, and pulling himself up and over and down the dim hall.

  “Damn it!” Kugo shouted, and he began to look for a way around.

  Moss, however, had a far more elegant solution. He once again wrapped his hands around Nephis’ small waist and hoisted her high into the air.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Nephis cried, “What are you thinking?!”

  And with a might swing, he hurled her into the air, over the precipitous drop.

  “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” she cried.

  Nephis tumbled onto the wooden flooring on the other side, writhing in pain as she listened to Kugo protest in the distance. As she pulled herself up, her mind still reeling, she saw the withered husk of a rat.

  The thief patted down the stone wall of the library, trying desperately to find any hole that he might escape from. The doors, the windows had all been magically sealed, or so the students said. But perhaps he might leave the same way he came in. This alcove was small and little attended too by the looks of it, with much of the commotion down stairs, he hoped this form and place might give him a moment. He had taken the form of a young woman he had seen many times. In the home of a noble lord, he often delivered messages to, there was a portrait of a fair lady. He never once saw her proper, but she looked the right age. Nut brown, curly hair, and a soft and distant expression. It was such a captivating, otherworldly gaze, he could not help but stare at it for a long while every time he was there. Never once did he see the girl in the palace; if he had, he might have turned his life around just for her. But now, with a terrible, frightful grimace on her face, he was certain he did her injury. But emergencies were emergencies.

  Then he heard the soft fall of footsteps, and his blood ran cold.

  “Oh! Pardon me!” a young woman said from the doorway, “I don’t mean to interrupt.”

  The thief spun a round, far too far, showing the girl his other, rosy cheek; he was unused to the shortness of the legs. “It is no trouble, I was just looking for a place to study,” he mustered as sweet a voice as he could.

  But the young woman did not leave, a well-dressed girl with reddish, straight hair, looked at him – or her rather – with hollow eyes and a parted mouth. “Stela,” she exclaimed, “Is that you?”

  “What? No, not at all, who is Stela?” the thief said. The best course here was certainly to not be Stela.

  The girl approached. No, damn you, turn away! The thief thought, though kept a strained smile on his, or perhaps her, face.

  “It really is you!” she said with joy, “But how? I heard you had died!”

  Nephis heard a commotion, the sound of arguing coming from down a small corridor, and having no other hints, followed. She burst into the chamber to find two young girls arguing, and one with a familiar great bag. She locked eyes with the curly-haired girl. The face-thief, like a viper, hooked one arm around the ginger student and drew a dagger from beneath their cloak. The tip pressed into the frightened girl’s neck, a small trickle of blood spilling out.

  “Not a step closer, or she gets it!” the thief demanded. And then the thief’s eyes flicked to another wall, where a small bit of light was coming through. The thief pulled the girl slowly to that wall.

  “Hand over the book,” Nephis demanded.

  “Alright, alright,” the thief said in a calming voice, as one might assuage an animal. And reached a little hand into the great bag, but what the thief pulled from it was not the tome, but a squirming mouse.

  Bearings of winter, herald of autumn, little child water - I am thee.

  Nephis reacted too late, and he completed the spell before she could grab him. His form and all he held, aside from the girl, became mist. Her hand grabbed onto nothing as a dry, thin mouse clattered onto the ground. The mist floated away and into the small hole in the wall, and he escaped.

  Moss and Kugo soon ran in after her, but it was done. By the time they made it back to the door of the library, the silver chain had run out, and students rushed outside like water from a broken dam. “Is it so much trouble to read a book?” Nephis bemoaned. Her companions did their best to console her, but there was little left to salvage in the situation apart that they were all alive and well.

  The proctoress apologized profusely, bowing low and grabbing pathetically at the black hem of her skirt. “This was a most terrible failure, your highness, please do forgive me! The library, it is so underfunded. Of course, we appreciate and use well every copper the Emperor provides!”

  Nephis had grown quite tired of the proctoress and her servile greed, and left her with the appropriate honors and platitudes. And with little more to do, the three of them rested for what remained of the day, and come first light, they piled into the blue and copper carriage and left for the capital, where she was to give an account of most of what had happened.

  Liviu, after many days of travel, returned to report what he had accomplished. He held the great, ancient tome carefully in his satchel. He had walked through rain and muck, trying desperately to keep the damn thing dry. And he had done so. He was led by the nose through the dark corridors of Castle Fangheart. The fortress was a terror to get to, a days travel through the Ceroil Wood. It lay like a spearhead in the shadowed forest, caught between the giant, old, and tangled trees. He shook with fear when they took him through the courtyard, a mishmash of old white stone and new grey bricks. It was nearly complete. But the true terror was its inhabitants. Bandits and monsters, true monsters. Orcs and goblins and kobolds, all skittering around together as one. He could not bear to even glance at any of them, certain they would rip his head off if he gave them the wrong look.

  At last, he made it to the heavy, black oaken door. His presence was announced for him. There was silence in Castle Fangheart for a moment.

  “Enter.”

  Liviu stepped in to see the man himself. Rau sat at a well-tended desk full of papers and a goblet of wine. Rau wore his armor, even now, entirely black, black as pitch. It was a frightful suit, engraved with every horrible visage, the helm formed into a dragon’s maw. The room was dark; there were no windows, only scattered wax candles. Behind him was a hung a map of all of Karlia: Radina, Ebedit Devlit, and a hundred little duchies, carefully hand drawn. It must have cost a fortune.

  “I have brought what you requested,” Liviu said, and handed over the weighty tome.

  Rau looked it over, carefully flicking the book open and glancing at what was written within. “Thank you,” he said, his voice was as cold as steel. “The agreed-upon amount,” and he placed ten golden solis into his hands. Liviu could live large for a year or two, or perhaps even retire if he liked.

  “Good work as always,” Rau praised him, and Liviu’s eyes snapped up to attention. “I will call on you when I once again need your talent. So please, enjoy your pay.”

  “Yes, sir,” Liviu said. His mind ran wild with the possibilities.

  “Did anything of note happen?” Rau asked.

  “Well, not really,” Liviu excused, “There was only a girl, a noble girl and her entourage who chased after me. They were after the book as well, I presume. But I got out, clean as a whistle, like I always do!”

  “A noble?” Rau asked, “Who?”

  “I believe she said her name was Nephis, a Flores,” he sheepishly admitted.

  “Nephis?” Rau thought aloud and then fell silent for a while, “One of the younger of the Emperor’s children. Is he using her?”

  Liviu did not answer, holding as silent as he could.

  “No matter, you pilfered the tome. That is all I asked of you,” he said, “Begone.”

  And Liviu hurried out of the office and removed himself from Fangheart and the wretched woods as fast and as quietly as a rat.