Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4) (42 page)

“No, sir.”

“No, you certainly do not. But you should. That was written by the library founder, Theodorus Winkfield. Now let me ask another. Know how old the statue is?”

Augum exchanged a bewildered look with Leera and Bridget. “I’m sure we don’t, sir.”

“Ah, I was hoping you’d tell me.” The man wheezed a laugh. “I don’t either, but much older than me, yes it is.” He rubbed his heavily veined nose and turned to look at them. He squinted at their robes, blinking rapidly, and loosed a great big sigh. “They don’t teach you kids proper history like they should, no they do not. Once was a time they did, but not anymore.” He waved his cane in a tight circle. “Once was a time you young ‘uns knew more than the old fools who prowl these here halls, yes siree, you can bet on that.” He kept nodding as if his neck was a swing. After staring at the trio with those rapidly blinking eyes, he suddenly thrust his cane at one of the doors. “Necromancy’s that door there, yes she is, though she be a harsh mistress, yes she be, a harsh mistress indeed.”

“Uh, sorry, sir, but we’re not here to look at necromancy,” Augum replied, quickly adding, “Today, that is. Maybe tomorrow.”

The man’s bushy brows rose. “Well then, sonny, what, pray tell, are you here for?”

“Is there a section on artifacts?”

“Oh, aye, there’s a section on artifacts.” The man’s head returned to bobbing along as if it was a cork in water.

“Can … can you tell us where it is?”

“Aye, I can.” His eyes stayed even as his head went up and down and up and down, driving Augum nuts.

“So … where is it?”

“Somewhere in this library.”

“Right … Should we just maybe poke around then?”

The man’s head now started swinging the other way. “Nay, ye probably shouldn’t do that, nope, no siree … but you could.”

“I don’t understand—”

The man turned on his heel, looked up at the gargoyle. “Do you want to know a secret?”

The trio exchanged looks. Was this man mad?

“Sure, I guess,” Augum replied, hoping this was going somewhere soon.

The old man’s hoarse voice dropped to a tremulous whisper as he nodded at the inscription. “There are words behind these words, yes there are indeed.”

The trio came a little closer to inspect the words.

Augum frowned. “You mean, like, a double meaning?”

The man stood impassively watching them, head bouncing.

“I don’t see anything,” Leera replied.

“That’s because ye ain’t really lookin’, is you now? What does that there gargoyle represent?”

Leera frowned. “You just told us.”

“But were you listening, lass?”

Bridget tapped her chin. “Wisdom, inquisitiveness, and strength of character …”

“Ah, this one here has brains to go along with them little ears.” He made an impatient gesture with his cane. “Now put two-and-two together, dear, come on now, lest these bones grow any more brittle.”

Augum and Leera glanced at each other. What was he going on about?

Bridget’s face suddenly lit up. She approached the inscription, reached out, and said, “Un vun deo.” The words immediately morphed. “ ‘Thou canst find wisdom, if thou not searcheth for it first’,” she read solemnly.

The man smiled, head wobbling. “Very good, young lass, very good. And what does that tell you about this here ancient institution?”

Bridget crossed her brows in concentration. “It says two things—that not all is as it first appears, and that things cannot be found without being searched for.”

“Omnio incipus equa liberatus corsisi mei.”

Bridget immediately replied with, “All begin equal but only the curious thrive.”

The man’s smile broadened as he gave her an appraising look. He opened his palms and glanced at the ornate ceiling. “Unnameables, there is hope for this lost generation yet. Have mercy on the few we have remaining. Keep them safe and guide them on the path of knowledge.”

He returned his gaze to Bridget’s robe and started shaking his head again. “A pity, my dear, a real pity, yes it is.” His voice dropped. “Your time would be better served as a scholar within these here walls, yes it would. There are many, many secrets to be unlocked here, to be rediscovered even, I dare say, yes I do.”

He raised a stern finger and went absolutely still. “But if you repeat it, I shall deny it, yes I will. And then I shall play the old fool, and no one will be the wiser.” He winked and wheezily chuckled, head bob returning. “Did you know that sometimes you can tell the age of an idea just by the smell of the parchment? Did you know that? Yes you can indeed. One must take time in life to bend down and sniff the pages.”

Suddenly he put on a stern mask, freezing once again while whispering, “But be on ye guard, for there be people …” His rapidly blinking eyes flicked to and fro. “That do not like their secrets being aired, no they do not. And then … and then there be ghosts, and ghosts are never to be trifled with, no, never trifle with a ghost.” His voice dropped even lower, to a gravelly rumble, and his face darkened. “But then … then there are ghosts of ghosts … the past come to life … that go out of their way to harm the soul, yes they do.” His head bobbed slowly. “They do indeed … sometimes with a puzzle. Sometimes with a gesture.” He tapped the floor slowly with his cane. “Some of those ghosts of ghosts rest in this here very library, yes they do. In its five foot walls. In its statues. In the bowels of bowels, deep, deep beneath the shell that is what the unlearned peasant sees. Old, tired ghosts, whom you’ll probably never even get to see …”

The trio exchanged wide-eyed looks. Augum felt goose bumps on his skin. Something about the way the old man spoke …

The man raised that bony finger again. “But you shouldn’t ask too many questions either, no you should not, not around here. Not in this time. Especially not the right ones.” His eyes bored into Bridget. “No, those questions can get a young lass put in the ground awful quick, oh yes, awful quick …” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Or worse … raise her after she be buried.”

Bridget drew her hood a little tighter.

“Omnio incipus equa liberatus corsisi mei,” the man repeated in that same spooky tone before suddenly brightening. “Why don’t I leave you to it then, eh?” He chuckled to himself while wiping his veined nose. “Never too early for a whisky, no it ain’t, I says, never too early,” and he padded off, cane tapping on the floor. He sang to himself in a warbling tone, “
Too early or too late, it don’t matter here nor hine, yet the library it doth open, and close at the strike of nine, yes it does, it does indeed
…”

“Who in Sithesia was that?” Leera said.

“Wish we’d asked,” Augum replied.

Bridget watched the man go before turning back to the statue. “Not sure he would have told you anyway.”

Leera nodded at the inscription. “Words are back to that gibberish again.”

Bridget glanced around as if seeing the library anew. Augum, too, suddenly saw things he had not noticed before—a small odd gargoyle, out of place amongst a family tapestry scene; a runic carving up high on one of the pillars, not repeated on any of the other pillars and far out of reach; how each of the doors had a different rune, subtly etched among a forest scene, or a castle scene, or some other scene; he even noticed an odd stone in the walls, discolored from the rest. Everything seemed to have meaning, layers, depth … secrets. Yes, this place had secrets, many of them. He could smell it in the musty and ancient air.

A Riddle

“We’re almost out of time,” Bridget said as a crier proclaimed the 11th strike of the morning bell. They had walked all about the hall, searching for the section on artifacts. They did not dare ask anyone where it was, especially not any of the numerous Legion guards posted at each door. Instead, they read what signs were posted, finding rather mundane sections thus far: law, languages, economics, farming, music, poetry, history, the trades, heraldry, herbology, and so on. A watchful gray-robed attendant and a guard manned each room, and the trio saw everyone who entered had to sign a form.

“But where are all the rooms on arcanery?” Leera whispered. “I don’t get it, all of those sections so far have been for
Ordinaries
.”

“Some people find that word offensive,” Bridget said.

“Only Ordinaries do. And the necromancy study room doesn’t count—they didn’t even have spell books in there, or anything interesting really.”

“What about those at the front of the hall?” Augum nodded at a pair of massive black doors, guarded by two brutish-looking Legionnaires, their mailed hands resting on the pommels of two-handed swords.

“You want to be the one to ask them?” Leera asked.

“Think I’ll pass.”

“Thought so.”

Bridget withdrew the library map. “Interesting … it’s unmarked. The room is grayed out on here, with a dotted line.”

“Something tells me we’re not supposed to be going in there,” Leera said.

“Which is exactly why we should find a way in,” Augum whispered, grinning.

“Let’s look around.” Bridget moseyed by a guard, pretending to glance at the ancient artwork behind him, though she was really searching the walls. Augum and Leera did the same.

“Don’t whistle,” Leera said to him.

“Why?”

“It’s suspicious, and you’re a terrible whistler, like squeaky bellows or something.”

They casually walked the room, but finding nothing particular, exited back the way they had come.

“Place is spooky now,” Leera whispered as she eyed the statues in the arched hallway.

Augum absently nodded as he spotted another tapestry with a hidden gargoyle.

Bridget stopped before one of the tapestries. “Look.” She subtly nodded her head at a figure in a tapestry.

Augum paced over to see a proud and stern looking man with a large group of people behind him. Everyone wore ancient clothing that had lots of ruffles, and stood on a wide marble staircase flanked by two smaller curving staircases. Stone globes marked the baluster endings. Near the back stood an empty suit of shining armor.

“Look familiar?” Bridget whispered.

The hairs on the back of Augum’s neck stood on end. “Castle Arinthian … do you think that’s
him
—?”

“Could be,” Bridget said. She glanced at a patrolling Legionnaire. “We shouldn’t stare at this too long, come on.”

Augum spotted another gargoyle in the scene as he slowly strolled away. This one was tucked away in a corner, camouflaged by the checkered flooring, and held a candle.

“Is this library really that old?” Leera asked as they paced away.

Bridget’s gaze fell upon a triple-headed dog as they passed. “Something tells me it is. At least the castle part.”

Augum’s ancestor, Atrius Arinthian, defeated Occulus after receiving a scion from the Leyans, but the tapestry looked like it was a scene before the war of the scions started. That would date the tapestry, at the very least, 1500 years …

“Since the Legion made spell scrolls illegal,” Bridget muttered, studying the map, “they would have restricted access to them, not to mention spell books, or anything related to arcanery. There’s a large room beside that grayed-out one on the map here. Maybe there’s a way to sneak in.”

“ ‘Hall of Ancestry’,” Leera read. “There’s no hallway leading to it though.”

“Must mean we have to take a portal,” Augum said.

They soon returned to the entrance hall of the library, then dipped into the main Portal Room.

Augum thought to try something. He found an etched oval with the words
Arcane Studies
next to it.
Restricted
had been chiseled in underneath. “Shyneo,” he said after checking to make sure they were the only ones there.

“Aug, don’t—” Bridget said as he placed his hand on the oval.

“Might be worth a shot,” he said. “We can just say we’re lost or something and play dumb.” He turned back to the oval. “Augustus Westwood,” but nothing happened.

“No surprise since we don’t have access,” Leera said, finding another oval. “This one leads to the Hall of Ancestry.” She activated it and they stepped through.

The trio was spit out into a vast, dim room with a vaulted ceiling. There were great stone sculptures everywhere, depicting figures, battle scenes, miniature castles, towers, towns and villages. Someone was chiseling distantly, the sound echoing with every strike.

“State your business for visiting the Hall of Ancestry,” said a snippy voice. They turned to see a bell-shaped woman behind a battered desk, flanked by two gruff-looking Legionnaires, their helms removed. A single candle sat before her, fluttering with every labored breath she expelled.

Augum blurted the first thing that came to mind. “We’re here to see the statue of Occulus.”

The woman, wearing draping gray attendant garb, glanced at their necrophyte robes before scribbling something down. “Sign and date this.” She wore pointy spectacles that gave her the appearance of a cat. Her hair was pulled back in a bun so tight it was distorting her face.

The trio paced over. Augum was conscious of the guards watching him with grim eyes, and noted their hands rested on their sword pommels. He signed his name and dated it in the spaces provided, 17th day of the 3rd month, year 3341, 11th toll of the morning bell.

“You are from out of town.”

“We are,” Augum replied.

“That will be four silver a head.”

“It costs
that much
just to come in here?” Leera said.

“My, aren’t you precious. Why of course it does, silly dear,” giving the guards an amused
look. “There are a lot of administrative costs to cover in keeping this place running. Nothing in life is free now, is it?”

Bridget hesitated but handed over twelve silver coins.

The woman nodded at the hall. “Occulus is around the corner in the very back, and be mindful of the works. Just because you are necrophytes does not mean you get any leeway.” She snorted at one of the guards. “Kids these days. Always acting above their station.” Their lips curled with sneers.

The trio hurried off, trying not to appear too curious as they shuffled past assorted large scale dioramas carved out of marble and blackened with age.