There was
something wrong with the city. In addition to its extraordinarily
clean smell. The rain had continued throughout most of the night.
And in addition to the stunned looks on the faces of
street-dwellers, who had survived their worst night yet. No. It was
a sort of bated-breath feeling that got stronger as I approached
the library. Maybe it was some sort of psychic phenomenon.
I stopped. The Captain used to say you had to trust your
instincts. If it felt like something was wrong, then I should take
time to figure out why I felt that way. I turned slowly.
No street poor here. But that was understandable. There were
dead people around here. The survivors would be clinging to
whatever shelter they could find, afraid the Greys would replace
the shadows by day. But the Greys were absent, too. And traffic was
lighter than it should be. And most of the tiny one-man stalls that
sprawled out into the thoroughfare were not in evidence.
There was fear in the air. People expected something to happen.
They had seen something that troubled them deeply. What that might
be was not obvious, though. When I asked one of the merchants who
was bold enough to be out, he ignored my question completely and
tried to convince me that there was no way I could manage another
day without a hammered-brass censer.
In a moment I decided he might be right. I paused to speak to
another brass merchant whose space lay within eyeshot of the
library. “Where is everyone this morning?” I asked,
examining a long-spouted teapot sort of thing with no real
utility.
A furtive shift of the merchant’s eyes toward the library
suggested there was substance to my premonitions. And whatever had
spooked him had taken place quite recently.
No Taglian neighborhood remains quiet and empty for long.
I seldom carry money but did have a few coins on me this
morning. I bought the useless teapot. “A gift for my wife.
For finally producing a son.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?” the
brass smith asked.
“No. I’m
from . . . Dejagore.”
The man nodded to himself, as if that explained everything. When
I started to move on, he murmured, “You don’t want to
go that way, Dejagoran.”
“Ah?”
“Be in no hurry. Find a long way around that
place.”
I squinted at the library. I saw nothing unusual. The grounds
appeared completely normal, though some men were working on the
garden. “Ah.” I continued forward only till I could
slide into the mouth of an alley.
Why were there gardeners there? Only the Master Librarian ever
brought them in.
I caught glimpses of something wheeling above the library. It
drifted down to settle on the ironwork of the gate, above
Adoo’s head. I took it for a lone pigeon at first but when it
folded its wings, I saw that it was a white crow. And a crow with a
sharper eye than Adoo had. But Adoo was accustomed to posting
himself in the gateway.
That constituted another warning sign.
The white crow looked right at me. And winked. Or maybe just
blinked, but I preferred the implication of intelligence and
conspiratorial camaraderie.
The crow dropped onto Adoo’s shoulder. The startled
gateman nearly jumped out of his sandals. The bird evidently said
something. Adoo jumped again and tried to catch it. After he
failed, he ran into the library. Moments later Shadar disguised as
librarians and copyists rushed out and began trying to bring the
crow down with stones. The bird got the heck out of there.
I followed its example, heading in another direction. I was more
alert than I had been in years. What was going on? Why were they
there? Obviously they were lying in wait. For me? Who else? But
why? What had I done to give myself away?
Maybe nothing. Though failing to show up to be questioned would
count as damning evidence. But I was not lunatic enough to try to
bluff my way through whatever it was the Greys were trying to
do.
The milk was spilt. No going back. But I did want to mourn the
one volume of ancient Annals I had not yet been able to locate and
pilfer.
All the way home I tried to reason out what had brought out the
Greys. Surendranath Santaraksita had not been missing long enough
to cause any official interest. In fact, some mornings the Master
Librarian did not arrive until much later than this. I gave it up
before I threw my brain out of joint. Murgen could go poking around
down there. He could find the answer by eavesdropping.
There was
something wrong with the city. In addition to its extraordinarily
clean smell. The rain had continued throughout most of the night.
And in addition to the stunned looks on the faces of
street-dwellers, who had survived their worst night yet. No. It was
a sort of bated-breath feeling that got stronger as I approached
the library. Maybe it was some sort of psychic phenomenon.
I stopped. The Captain used to say you had to trust your
instincts. If it felt like something was wrong, then I should take
time to figure out why I felt that way. I turned slowly.
No street poor here. But that was understandable. There were
dead people around here. The survivors would be clinging to
whatever shelter they could find, afraid the Greys would replace
the shadows by day. But the Greys were absent, too. And traffic was
lighter than it should be. And most of the tiny one-man stalls that
sprawled out into the thoroughfare were not in evidence.
There was fear in the air. People expected something to happen.
They had seen something that troubled them deeply. What that might
be was not obvious, though. When I asked one of the merchants who
was bold enough to be out, he ignored my question completely and
tried to convince me that there was no way I could manage another
day without a hammered-brass censer.
In a moment I decided he might be right. I paused to speak to
another brass merchant whose space lay within eyeshot of the
library. “Where is everyone this morning?” I asked,
examining a long-spouted teapot sort of thing with no real
utility.
A furtive shift of the merchant’s eyes toward the library
suggested there was substance to my premonitions. And whatever had
spooked him had taken place quite recently.
No Taglian neighborhood remains quiet and empty for long.
I seldom carry money but did have a few coins on me this
morning. I bought the useless teapot. “A gift for my wife.
For finally producing a son.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?” the
brass smith asked.
“No. I’m
from . . . Dejagore.”
The man nodded to himself, as if that explained everything. When
I started to move on, he murmured, “You don’t want to
go that way, Dejagoran.”
“Ah?”
“Be in no hurry. Find a long way around that
place.”
I squinted at the library. I saw nothing unusual. The grounds
appeared completely normal, though some men were working on the
garden. “Ah.” I continued forward only till I could
slide into the mouth of an alley.
Why were there gardeners there? Only the Master Librarian ever
brought them in.
I caught glimpses of something wheeling above the library. It
drifted down to settle on the ironwork of the gate, above
Adoo’s head. I took it for a lone pigeon at first but when it
folded its wings, I saw that it was a white crow. And a crow with a
sharper eye than Adoo had. But Adoo was accustomed to posting
himself in the gateway.
That constituted another warning sign.
The white crow looked right at me. And winked. Or maybe just
blinked, but I preferred the implication of intelligence and
conspiratorial camaraderie.
The crow dropped onto Adoo’s shoulder. The startled
gateman nearly jumped out of his sandals. The bird evidently said
something. Adoo jumped again and tried to catch it. After he
failed, he ran into the library. Moments later Shadar disguised as
librarians and copyists rushed out and began trying to bring the
crow down with stones. The bird got the heck out of there.
I followed its example, heading in another direction. I was more
alert than I had been in years. What was going on? Why were they
there? Obviously they were lying in wait. For me? Who else? But
why? What had I done to give myself away?
Maybe nothing. Though failing to show up to be questioned would
count as damning evidence. But I was not lunatic enough to try to
bluff my way through whatever it was the Greys were trying to
do.
The milk was spilt. No going back. But I did want to mourn the
one volume of ancient Annals I had not yet been able to locate and
pilfer.
All the way home I tried to reason out what had brought out the
Greys. Surendranath Santaraksita had not been missing long enough
to cause any official interest. In fact, some mornings the Master
Librarian did not arrive until much later than this. I gave it up
before I threw my brain out of joint. Murgen could go poking around
down there. He could find the answer by eavesdropping.