The Eyes of God (16 page)
Authors: John Marco
The man snapped up the brim of his hat and glanced around. “Well, it’s big. But where’s the library going to be?”
“You’re standing in it.”
“What, all of this?” Figgis looked aghast. “You mean this whole area?”
“That’s right,” said Akeela. “What do you think?”
“Gods above, it’s enormous.” Figgis twirled around to study the site. “This’ll be the biggest library in the world.”
“Many times the biggest, I should think,” said Akeela. “It will be filled with books from across the continent, a place where scholars can meet and discuss great ideas. And I need someone to run it, someone with brains and vision.” The young king grimaced. “To be honest, I’m not sure you’re up to the job.”
The man straightened indignantly. “My lord, in Marn I am a renowned scholar and mathematician. I may not look like much . . .”
“No, forgive me,” said Akeela quickly. “That was rude of me. It’s just that you’re not what I expected. When Prince Jarek wrote to me about you, he left me with a different impression. I was expecting someone . . .” He shrugged. “Well, different.”
“If you mean my appearance, my lord, I am not offended. I’m often thought of as odd.”
“Odd? Oh, no,” said Akeela. Then he thought again. “Well, yes.” He looked down at the creature in his hands. “I mean, after all, a monkey?”
“A friend,” Figgis corrected. “Everyone needs a friend, my lord.” Figgis put out his hand and whistled, summoning Peko to him. The monkey obeyed at once, leaping between Akeela and its master and scurrying up the librarian’s arm. “Go ahead, my lords,” said Figgis, addressing them all. “You must have questions. Ask me anything. As I said, I’m very good with numbers.”
“Eighteen times twenty-seven,” said Breck quickly.
“Ridiculous. A hard one, I mean.” Figgis turned to Akeela. “My lord?”
Akeela thought for a moment, then challenged, “Six hundred eighty-four times nine hundred twenty-seven.”
“Six hundred thousand sixty-eight,” replied Figgis.
The others went blank. Akeela asked Breck, “Is that right?”
“Oh, it’s right,” answered Figgis. “I assure you, my figures are always accurate.”
Akeela laughed and said, “So you’re good with numbers. But I need a man of ideas, Figgis. Someone who can fill my library with books. Do you know much about books?”
“Books?” blurted Graig. “You should see the crates of them he arrived with, my lord. Not a stitch of clean clothes, just stacks and stacks of parchments and scrolls.”
“My collection,” Figgis explained. “I don’t go anywhere without my books.”
“You seem quite certain that I’ll hire you, fellow,” Akeela observed. “You came all this way with your things. What makes you think I won’t turn you away?”
Figgis gestured to their surroundings. “Look at this place. You’re obviously pouring treasure into it. You want the best person you can find to run your library, King Akeela. That’s me.”
Graig snickered. “That’s a bit cocky.”
“Not at all,” said Figgis. “I’m accomplished, that’s all.”
“Tell me,” said Akeela.
“My lord, before working for Prince Jarek I was head scholar at the College of Science in Norvor. That’s when I began collecting books, and I venture to say I have a bigger collection than you yourself. I have a nose for finding special papers, and I invented my own cataloging system.”
“So you’re an inventor, too,” said Graig dryly.
“Yes. I am also an astronomer and can predict the movements of the heavens.” Figgis looked at Akeela. “Science, my lord. Not theology.”
“I understand,” said Akeela. “Go on.”
“Well, he’s an expert on monkeys,” said Graig.
Breck laughed. Figgis scowled.
“I’m an expert on many things,” said the librarian. “I know cultures and I speak four languages, and I’m an authority on Jador, my lord.”
“Jador?” Akeela’s brow creased. Jador was a mystery to the rest of the continent, a little known territory across the Desert of Tears. In all Akeela’s life, he had never met a Jadori, nor anyone who had. He was immediately intrigued by Figgis’ claim. “What do you know about Jador? Have you been there?”
“No, but I have studied it all my life. It’s a passion of mine. I have some Jadori texts, the prize of my collection. And I’ve got some tools from there as well. I even have a Jadori scimitar.” Figgis put up a finger for Peko to grab. “Even my little companion here came from Jador. A breeder I knew in Ganjor gave him to me.”
“Really?” Akeela was instantly fascinated. As a lover of books himself, he had read many fanciful tales of the Jadori. “Is it true they ride lizards?”
“They’re called kreel,” said Figgis. “And yes, it’s true. Look at this . . .” He dug under his shirt and fished out a necklace. On it was a serrated tooth, as long as a shark’s. “This is a kreel’s tooth. I got it from a Jadori trader when I was in my twenties.”
Akeela was wide-eyed. He reached out and ran a finger over the tooth’s edge, feeling its sharpness. Pride flickered in Figgis’ eyes.
“If I take this position I’d like to continue my study of Jador,” he said.
Akeela looked up. “You mean if I give you the position.”
Figgis nodded. “As you say.”
He was an arrogant man, certainly, and his eccentricities were obvious, yet Akeela was intrigued.
“Walk with me, Figgis,” he said, then strode away from the others. After a moment he heard Figgis’ footsteps on the gravel, following. Akeela didn’t turn around to summon Graig or Breck; he wanted to talk to the stranger alone.
“My lord?” asked Figgis. “Where are we going?”
Akeela didn’t answer. Instead he led Figgis toward the giant heap of quarried stone, which his workmen had been bringing to the site in cartloads. The pile was now well over the height of a house, and would only grow larger as the project continued. Akeela paused before it, considering its enormity.
“Look at that,” he said. “Figgis, I need someone who can help me turn this pile of rocks into a great library.”
“I’m not an architect, my lord.”
“Don’t be obtuse. You know what I mean.” Akeela smiled at him. “You seem like a very learned man. There’s a lot of knowledge locked in that head of yours, and I’m sure it would be useful. But this project will require more than just brains.”
“What do you mean?”
Akeela thought for a moment. How could he explain a dream?
“This isn’t going to be just a library,” he said finally. “I call this my Cathedral of Knowledge. It’s going to be a beacon, a place that isn’t reserved just for scholars and royalty. It’s for the people, Figgis. All the people. I want this library to help me change things. For that I need a man of vision.”
Figgis gave a wicked grin. “Vision is a dangerous thing, my lord.”
“So then I need a brave man, as well. Someone who can take the rough weather of politics and not be scared away. I won’t lie to you; there are men in the House of Dukes that will oppose me. But so far they’ve given me the funding I need, because I’ve made peace with Reec and they admire me for that. I don’t know how long their goodwill will last, though. When it fades, I may have to fight them to keep this project alive. And I’ll need someone to stand with me.”
The librarian removed his hat and ran his fingertips over the brim, considering Akeela’s words. His big bald spot shone in the sunlight. His eyes shifted to his simian companion. Peko seemed to sense his master’s dilemma and began to squawk. Figgis nodded at the monkey.
“Don’t tell me he’s talking to you,” said Akeela.
“Let’s just say Peko and I understand each other.”
“Really? All right, then. What does he tell you to do?”
Before Figgis could answer, Graig appeared over his shoulder. The Head Warden waved to get Akeela’s attention.
“Pardon me, my lord, but I think you should be heading back now. It’s almost time for Mercy Court.”
“I’ll be with you presently, Graig,” said Akeela. He continued to stare at Figgis. “Well, old fellow? What’s your answer? Are you up to the challenge of my library?”
Figgis put his hat back on and glanced around. “I’ve been a lot of places, my lord. I’ve seen a lot of things and had a lot of jobs. I’m old and I’m tired, and I could be dead by the time this project of yours is completed.”
Akeela’s expression fell.
“Still,” Figgis went on, “Sooner or later a man has to settle down and call a place home. Let’s build your cathedral, my lord.”
Akeela arrived at the Chancellery of Justice five minutes late for Mercy Court. His small tardiness was punished by a logjam of petitioners.
Mercy Court was one of Akeela’s first and best accomplishments, a chance for the people to see and speak to their young king and to seek pardons for crimes both petty and large. Since taking the throne a few months ago, Mercy Court had been a weekly ritual for Akeela. He would arrive at the Chancellery of Justice, take his place in the red leather chair usually reserved for Chancellor Nils, and wait for the petitioners to fill the courtroom. It had been a fairly simple thing when it began, never taking more than a few hours. But word had spread quickly of the new king’s benevolence, and now his weekly ritual was an all-day duty. Today, with a huge congregation already gathered outside the chancellery, Akeela knew he wouldn’t return to Lionkeep until sundown. And that was the rule of Mercy Court; that the king would listen to petitions until the sun fell. Those unlucky enough to miss his judgement could return the following week or take their chances with Chancellor Nils and his judges.
This day, as Akeela made his way through the chancellery, a crowd of Liirians pushed toward him with gifts and offerings and petitions written on parchment, begging him to listen to their pleas. As always, Akeela told the crowd that they would each be seen in turn, and would receive his fairest judgment. Not wanting to be corrupted, he politely declined the gifts shoved under his nose, even refusing an apple tart an old woman had baked. At the other end of the hall, Chancellor Nils waited, his old, grim face tight with anxiety. Nils was a good man and a fair judge, and he had served Akeela’s father wisely. But like many of Liiria’s chancellors, he had trouble with the new king’s idealism, and he did not like Mercy Court at all. Nils bowed cordially as Akeela approached, then had his gray-robed assistants open the courtroom doors. Akeela pushed his way through the throngs and greeted Nils with a smile. The old chancellor returned the grin crookedly.
“Another crowd this morning, my lord,” said Nils. He stepped aside for Akeela to pass.
“Yes. It’s good to see the people coming out, don’t you think, Chancellor?”
“It’s like bedlam in a broom closet, my lord.”
Akeela walked into the courtroom. The chancellor’s assistants closed the wooden doors behind him, and suddenly the world went silent. The trial chamber of the Justice Chancellery was a grand, even frightful place. A majestic judge’s bench stood at the far end, looming darkly over the petition box, a small, barred area with a single wooden chair. There were rows of benches for the petitioners to use while they waited, and busts of past chancellors lined the rosewood walls, staring down at Akeela with cold detachment. Akeela made his way to the bench and sat down in the leather chair. He suddenly felt imperious, then remembered why he had begun Mercy Court. In Liiria, men like Nils held all the power.
“All right, bring them in,” he told the assistants. The men in their charcoal robes opened the courtroom doors again. The petitioners surged forward. They had each been given a wooden tag with a number painted on it, but that didn’t stop them from fighting for the front seats. Akeela settled in for a long day.
The first hour was unremarkable. Akeela heard the cases of farmers and housewives, coopers and landowners and merchants, all with similar gripes. They were mostly petty squabbles, but Akeela gave them all his full attention, never letting the dullness of their stories make him irritable. He loved the work of Mercy Court and gave out judgements liberally, making sure that no one guilty ever suffered cruelly, or that an innocent should bear an unfair burden.
But Mercy Court wasn’t all about petty squabbles. There were real crimes to be dealt with, particularly thievery. Just before noon, Akeela heard the case of a man named Regial, who had been convicted of stealing sheep two years ago and had since served in Borior, Koth’s infamous prison. Regial had gone into prison at the age of twenty-three. Now, only two years later, he easily looked Akeela’s senior, with gaunt skin bleached white by prison walls and speckled eyes that searched the courtroom suspiciously. He licked dry lips as he stood before Akeela in the petition box, unable or unwilling to sit down. He had no barrister to defend him, just Assistant Chancellor D’marak, who read all the charges against prisoners and who, presumably from his tone, thought Regial deserving of his steep sentence. Akeela looked at Regial curiously, wondering how such a young man could waste away in prison. His father’s justice had been harsh. He offered him a glass of water.
“Here,” said Akeela, holding out his own glass. “Drink.”
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