The Witch of Glenaster Page 11

  “This,” said Chayter, portentously, “is the Hall of the Word, and one of the seven entrances to the Imperial Compendium. And to my mind, at least, it is the finest. Not the grandest, perhaps, or the most admired, but the finest nevertheless: in its detail, its workmanship, the sheer ambition of its execution. Notice the lettering traced in the beams above the fireplace – ‘Be wise’, it says in the Ancient Tongue – and the tiling about the walls, each one glazed with a letter from the Carolingian Alphabet – incredibly hard to do! It must have taken them years… It may be of small concern to you, but I can personally vouch for the fact that at least two people have been literally struck dumb by the mathematical exactitude of the room’s symmetry. If you take a pair of compasses…”

  He continued in this vein for several minutes, so that we were left in no doubt of his awe, and admiration, of the architectural colossi who had designed and built the Hall of the Word, and of their vast contribution to the sum total of human culture. Personally, I liked the room well enough, though I thought it rather dark and oppressive. Magnus merely yawned.

  As we ascended the stairs - and there were a lot of them – I asked Chayter how many people these days visited the Hall. He looked sad at this, and replied:

  “Too few, I’m afraid to say…” And he seemed so upset by the fact that I refrained from pressing the matter further. He said nothing more for a while, and we trudged behind him, as the staircase climbed upward to a broad and airy landing, still as an empty box, the dust dancing in columns in the air. It was then, as we reached the top - Magnus and I stopping for a rest, though our guide seemed untiring - that I gasped at what I quickly realized, though I did not notice it at first, was a figure, cloaked from head to foot in a grey cowl, and sat on a small chair, its head lowered as if asleep, so that it seemed for a moment as one dead. I turned panicked eyes to my brother, and Chayter saw my surprise, though I hoped not my fright, and said:

  “Oh, yes: sorry. They often sit here. It’s one of their places. He can’t hear us: he is in a trance. Sometimes they stay like this for days, till someone wakes them. They have even been known to die on occasion: simply wasting away where they sit. Though not recently, I should add.”

  “Who?” I asked. “Who is he?”

  Chayter turned, and looked at me for a moment as if I was dense.

  “Why, he’s one of the librarians, of course.” And he shrugged, and continued on, down the landing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  My unease at encountering the hooded figure only increased as we processed down a series of corridors - sunlight breaking intermittently through arched windows of stained glass, which seemed to bear countless images of book thieves being punished in sundry horrible ways - for he was only the first of many, and it seemed that every few yards or so, one would reach the end of a passageway, or lap a corner, only to find another one, just as the first, sat perfectly still on a small chair. Their catalepsy was all the more unnerving because it was so unnatural: no human being was meant to be so deathly still, and yet draw breath.

  It was a relief when Chayter finally brought us to a high door, with a broad face, and a delicate carving upon it, and long curtains of taffeta standing sentry to the sides. He stopped, and almost seemed to bow a little – though perhaps he had something in his eye – before stepping forward to pull at a latch, and gently swing the doors open.

  They gave outward, and on to a chamber unmatched in size by any, save the greatest of the world’s great palaces. Its length could not be measured by the eye, for it vanished into the distance, and I guessed it must be half a mile at least. We stood on a gallery that bordered the vast room, and looked down upon many high and closely packed shelves of books: small books, large books, books with spines missing; thin books, fat books, books that stood out awkwardly amongst their fellows; garish books, dull books, books of odd variety; new books, old books - and very, very old books, books that seemed so ancient they might crumble to dust at a touch, or a word.

  The Compendium was built on several levels – it seemed, indeed, that there were many, for each had been designed as a series of open rooms, divided by balconied walkways that formed the four sides of deep light-wells, reaching to the very bottom of the building - with stairways connecting them, and great windows near the roof which let in the sky; and indeed the sight, leaning over and staring down into the shadows far below, made me so giddy I was overcome for a few moments. For here I was, with all of the world’s knowledge at my feet; surely here was what I needed to defeat the Witch.

  “A splendid sight, is it not?” said Chayter. “It took them nearly twenty years to complete, and the Emperor Justin was an old man by the time the last stone was put in place. From here you can see the full magnificence of his achievement. And the books are guarded night and day, of course, by the librarians, lest anyone soil them with their hands…! I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, highborn children as you are, about the Heart of Hammers, or the Fifty Leaves, or the Saga of Cabryon…” And he sighed contentedly.

  But what about the Veil? I thought, chewing at a fingernail, and trying to listen as politely as possible. Where was it? Was it kept here? I was sourly regretting that, in all likelihood, we would have very little time to find out, when I became aware of a steady creaking, not far behind us, back in the corridor. I turned slowly - as Chayter began another eulogy to the Emperor Justin, and why his fourth wife went deaf in one ear, and Magnus clung to the bars of the gallery balustrade, staring outward, lost in himself - and what I saw made me reach for the edge of the doors, which had been left open; for in the gloom of the passage, I noticed that the last librarian we had passed, only moments before, had softly left his chair…

  For some reason I did not turn immediately to warn Chayter – if, indeed, he would even have thought himself in any danger if I had – and instead kept watching. Something was moving now, quietly and quickly, approaching the library; and as it came nearer I caught a clear rustling, as of long, thick robes…

  I pulled the doors to then, and prised Magnus away from the balustrade, and we were away down the gallery, taking the first set of steps we could find, down to the next level. Now I was really afraid, and I turned on the stair, calling after a startled Chayter, who remained standing by the entrance, looking bewildered by our sudden departure. He seemed about to open his mouth to speak, but as he did so, at least five of the hooded figures – the Magi-Librarians - appeared behind him, and one reached a hand clear into his chest, as if punching through paper; and when he retrieved it there was a bloody and rising stain on the man’s shirt, and he gave a small, hopeless little cry, before collapsing like a doll.

  Now I had very little time to think, for I saw the figures advancing on us, and I pulled Magnus up to my waist, and so ran down the stairs with him clutching his arms around my neck, and we made a good run into the gallery below before our pursuers had time to reach the top step above. I had to put him down then, for he was too heavy for me to carry far, and we put haste into our feet as we ducked among the shelves, fear driving us on.

  We swept down another stair, and then another, till my bearings started to fail me, and I was desperate, searching for a door that would take us out of the library and somehow back to the atrium. The shelves grew denser as we descended, and I thought our best chance was to hide amongst them, and keep quiet. Magnus was leading me now, for my steps had become erratic, and I felt myself starting to cry with the effort. I caught the look on my brother’s face as it flashed by a mirror, and it seemed so fierce and full of intent, that for a moment I feared him. I was ashamed, also, that I had failed him in such a manner, and ashamed, too, to look weak in his eyes. I stopped, though he tugged at my arm till it ached, and, moving to the other side of him, grabbed his other hand, for I feared he might slip from me, and we marched onward, though I still felt dizzy and nauseous, and could hear the drumming of feet on the level above. Turning, I saw two of the librarians approaching the top of a stairway, which ended yards from whe
re we stood, and I quickly broke into a run, Magnus struggling to keep up, and I knew we could not keep up this pace for long. But I was determined to escape, determined to live somehow - so that I could kill the Witch.

  I hurried on. We had put some space between us and our pursuers, and I thought I might be able to identify a door, some several storeys below, which could be an exit. But as we made haste towards the stairs that led to it, we saw - too late - that instead of running away from danger, we had run straight into it. For there were three of the librarians, who moved like phantoms, racing towards us from the other direction.

  We turned away, but realized then our trap: two more figures were watching us from another small stairwell, one I had not noticed before, but which coiled downward through the bookcases, and was half-hidden by them. As these two moved toward the floor, they seemed somehow to float above it, and I saw how completely we were undone: these were not natural creatures, and nothing we could do now would stop them, or even give them pause. I leant against a low table, and, weeping, threw up on to it; and I heard Magnus cry, and I felt my eyes sting and my throat ache, and I knew it was the end.

  I reached for my brother, so that I might shield his eyes from what was to come; but, just as I was closing my own, anticipating the blow, I heard a gasp, and then another, followed by a sudden parting of the air, and a crash from the levels below. And when I looked, I saw, to my astonishment, that another figure had appeared by our side, his greying hair tumbling wildly as he moved, a flash of steel in his hand, and a grim look upon his face. Thomas Taper was fighting with a speed and fury that terrified me, though I had seen him fight before; and it seemed he had already dispatched one of the librarians over the balustrade, and was busy making bloody work of another. The others were still approaching from behind, and I was about to warn him of it; but then I saw someone else fighting at Thomas’s back; and so there were two swordsmen, not one, setting about our pursuers, and we were glad indeed to see them.

  One of the librarians began to retreat the way he had come, and Thomas’s companion pulled a dagger from beneath his cloak, and sent it spinning through the air, before biting at the fleeing man’s back so deeply he fell tumbling over the stair, uncoiling like a rope to the ground, a large reading-desk breaking his fall, and his body.

  Thomas, also, seemed to be having the best of his opponents, though they had drawn their own blades - thin and sharp, with hilts of polished jet - and were fighting with no little vigour. They had seemed so superhuman before, that I wondered now if they were weaker than they seemed. But then one of them reached out, as if grasping something from the air, his long grey fingers seeming to form substance from it; and as he pulled back his arm I saw that a steady ball of light, glowing with a pale turquoise flame, had settled upon his palm; and he set it flying across the gallery towards us.

  I grabbed Magnus, and together we fell to the floor, as the ball soared through the air above us; and I heard a cry, quickly cut off, and a clatter of metal on wood, and then silence. My shoulder hurt. I couldn’t hear. I felt a hand pull me hurriedly, but gently, to my feet, which were at first legless and dull, like a drunk’s. And then I saw my brother hauled off the ground, and Thomas Taper running towards me, and then: nothing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  I swam in darkness.

  The air around me swept back and forth with each breath, folding itself into layers and shapes about my body, as I flew through it - spinning, looping, carried along by its current, gazing downward and seeing nothing; gazing upward and seeing downward. The darkness felt warm, and on the tongue it had the scent of sweetened blackberries. I felt I could swim in its embrace forever, for that word no longer had any meaning, and I did not miss it.

  Steadily, though, other shapes appeared in the blackness, and began to dance with it: vague at first, and far away, they became steadily more defined, and closer. Blues, greens, reds, yellows: and they made me laugh, though I did not understand what they were. But they danced closer still, and closer; and the darkness seemed to fall away, though I was sad to see it go, and wondered what these new things would bring me. And as I wondered, their dance became more formal, and they arranged themselves into lines, and then circles, and then more complex patterns; and their dancing seemed to slow, till it became a steady waltz rather than a joyful spin; and the waltz itself then started to slow, and then begin again, and then slow, and then begin again - fitfully, and endlessly, until finally it did end, and I found myself looking at strange patterns, all in white, above my head.

  At first I did not know what they were, or where I was, or indeed who I was; but steadily my mind filled, like a bucket from a trickling tap, and I remembered my name – Esther – though it sounded odd the first few times, as if I was trying it on like a dress; and then I remembered my age; and then I remembered my home, and my brother; and at last I remembered my parents, and my childhood, and all that had happened to me in the last few weeks, and the trickle became a torrent, and started out from my eyes.

  I was lying in bed, in a room that I supposed was in the house of Stefano the Cook, though it was not the room I had spent the last few nights in: it seemed bigger, and more opulent, and I admired the elegant plasterwork of the ceiling, now it had stopped spinning. The bed itself felt warm, and my body utterly free of any crick or tension - tucked between smooth sheets, and happy to simply lie, still like this, forever.

  It was then I became aware of sounds, away down the corridor outside the room; and as my ears adjusted to them, I realized they were voices; and as my mind became clearer still, I was sure one of them was Thomas Taper’s.

  I wanted to get up, but it seemed such a waste of energy when I felt so relaxed, and I resolved to wait until I had to do so. As I thought this, I saw the top of the bedroom door turn into my view as it creaked open, and someone came in.

  “Ah! Awake at last. I thought you might want something to eat – perhaps a little – so I brought you some lemon biscuits. They’re very good. Bought them in the market earlier. I’ll just put them down here…”

  The old man’s face swung into the corner of my eye as he leant down to place the tray of food on a table beside the bed. I saw him peer at me, his creased face furrowing at the brow, but his smile sure and steady.

  “Do you know who I am…?” he asked, tentatively. I swallowed, trying out my mouth for size.

  “Stefano…” I tried to say, though it was hardly more than a whisper. He nodded, satisfied, then returned to the door.

  “I’ll come back and look in on you later,” he said. “Get some rest now. You’re perfectly safe.” And with that he retreated, closing the door behind him.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  When, later that morning (for it was the morning, as I soon discovered, after our misadventure at the Imperial Compendium), I found the strength to pull myself out of bed and stumble blearily downstairs, I was surprised to find the place half-deserted, with little evidence of activity, though there must have been much commotion when we were rescued from the library. The memory of our escape gradually returned. Someone had carried me and my brother through endless, echoing tunnels, torchlight flickering dimly against the walls, the occasional shout, the sound of feet against stone. I could just recall a ride through the backstreets, crouched under a blanket, waking and sleeping and waking again; and then blackness once more, until I had awoken in that deep, warm bed. Now I somehow expected to see many strange faces – soldiers, perhaps, or mercenaries - pacing the corridors, arming themselves for battle. Instead, I found Stefano and Magnus, alone in the kitchen, and my romantic dreams were shattered, as my brother smiled weakly at my appearance, and then burped loudly.

  “Ah, you’re up! Good,” said Stefano, and he pulled out a chair for me, near the fire. “I’ll just make you some breakfast,” he continued, before pouring some oil into a pan, and setting it to warm on the heat of the stove. I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment, before pulling a face at Magnus, who stuck out his tongue at me in ret
urn.

  Stefano’s breakfast was hot and good, with eggs, and toast, and mushrooms, and slices of mutton ham, and thick grapefruit marmalade that was bittersweet and sticky, and hot coffee, that seemed to radiate to my bones. I felt grateful and glad. And it was then that Thomas Taper returned, slamming the door to behind him; and with him was another man, bulkier, with shorter hair, and they were both armed.

  “All seems well for now,” he said to Stefano. “We’re going to have to bring forward our plans, though.” And he turned to me, and fixed me with a disapproving eye. “You’ve cost me a great deal of trouble, young lady,” he said. “No grief can excuse your behaviour yesterday. I expressly forbade you from leaving the atrium, did I not…?” And he let the words hang for a moment between us. “Still, we will talk of this later. Will and I have important matters to discuss, and the day hastens on. We cannot all spend half our lives abed…” And I thought I caught a friendlier, more mocking tone when he said this, catching my eye, and I hoped I would soon be forgiven.

  Thomas and the man he called Will headed deeper into the house to continue their conversation in private, leaving Magnus and I once more alone with Stefano. I could see my brother was bored, leaning over the table and playing listlessly with the crumbs upon it, his eyes a million miles away. I reached across and blew gently on his face, and he pulled down his mouth in a mock frown.

  I was anxious to know what Thomas was planning, and how it would affect us: would he leave us here? Send us back to our home, to starve? I thought it unlikely; but there was a strange cast to his mind, and I realized I did not really know him, despite all we had been through together. I longed to know how he had come to wander the southern lands, and what was the story behind the pendant he kept so close to him. It was clear now that he was not on some prosaic errand: he had fierce business with someone, or some thing, and I had put his plans in jeopardy. Yet somehow I felt our fates were bound together, his and mine, and that this would not be where we would part.