The Witch of Glenaster (12 page)

We blinked like cats as the
door closed behind us, for the corridor behind it was very gloomy, and only the
dimmest light seemed to burn. I knew we could not tarry there, for clearly
there was a good degree of traffic in and out of the atrium this way, and we
would be seen. So we picked our way through the shadows, and tiptoed softly
round a corner, and then another, till the walls and thick ruby carpets seemed
like a tongue, feeding us ever backward into the greater space behind.

Along the sides of the
corridors were heads of bronze, some cheerful, many more grotesque, so that
Magnus became frightened, and insisted we return and wait for Thomas. But my
desire to see the Compendium, to see the place wherein all of the world’s
knowledge was housed, was something like a mania by now, and I would not be
stopped.

I pulled Magnus along, till he
complained that I was hurting him, and I sought to soothe him with kind words.

“I only wish to have a look,” I
told him. “Just a look…”

But his eyes burned brightly at
me in the half-light, and I saw in them the fierceness of his resentment.

We crept on, till we came to a
small hallway, wider and somewhat lighter, but still hushed and forbidding;
and, as we stood deciding which way to go, to the left or to the right, a
trickle of voices coming nearer from one side made the decision for us: we
turned left.

I was hurrying now,
half-skipping, convinced the knowledge I desired must be near, and that we
would soon emerge into the Compendium proper, and its high shelves of lore,
stretching along halls of bright timber and broad stone. Instead, we rounded a
corner and walked almost headlong into a guard, sat behind a small table, and
chewing a dirty fingernail while he read a book so small it nearly disappeared
behind his fat-fingered hands.

In appearance he resembled the
guard in the atrium, and I wondered if they might be related, but more than this
I felt a fool for having so stupidly blundered into him. As my mind fumbled for
an excuse, the guard looked up, gave a tight little yawn, wiped his mouth, and
called over his shoulder:

“
Chay
-TERRR!!”

For a few moments, there was no
response. Then, with a far-off squeak, a small split appeared in the wall
behind the guard’s desk, and a door emerged, as if out of nowhere; and from
behind it came a stooped, bespectacled man with thinning hair and
smooth-looking jowls, and a smirk which might have been friendly in intent, but
only managed to look sinister.

The guard blinked slowly at us,
and turned to the other man.

“Ah:
Chayter
.
Good. Got some visitors for the library. Show them round, will you, there’s a
good chap. I’m very busy here, seeing to, err… seeing to… things. Chop, chop.”

The man called
Chayter
nodded, then addressed us in a wheedling little
voice:

“Ah, yes! Follow me. The
library is this way…”

My brother and I hesitated for
a moment, but then came the realization – they thought we were
meant
to be
there! – and I recovered myself enough to smile at the guard, who had returned
to his book, as we followed
Chayter
, shuffling with
small but rapid steps back through the secret door, which then closed as if by
its own will behind us, for I saw no handle, nor hinge.

“Bit of a short cut, this,”
said
Chayter
, pulling a lamp from the wall, and,
waving it theatrically before him, disappearing down a narrow passageway that
wound lazily onward to the right. I felt Magnus’s distress in the pressure his
hand made on my palm, and I tried to reassure him. The passage started to slope
downward, so that our feet fell away from us, and we half-walked, half-ran
behind
Chayter
, who seemed to maintain the same
strange pace regardless. Finally we came to a door cut into the stone, similar
to the one we had entered by, though this one had a handle, and, with a swift
pull, our guide yanked it open. Behind it was a small staircase, lit, like the
passage, only by the feeblest of lamps, which flickered lazily in the grey air.
We picked our way downward with care, Magnus reaching tentatively for my back
as he walked behind me, not wanting to seem scared.

At the bottom of the staircase
was another corridor, but this one was more cheerful; and at the further end
there seemed a great pillow of light – natural light – creeping into the dark
corners and recesses of the walls, and urging us onward towards it. As we
approached, we saw we were at the bottom of a light-well that reached, it
seemed, right up to the roof of the building.

“We are now directly beneath
the Imperial Compendium,” said
Chayter
, “as it was
built by the Emperor Justin in the Time of Consecration, of which even the
oldest ghosts have no memory. It is a long way to the library. We will have to
take a carriage.”

And as he said this, he pulled
open a wide set of doors to our left, and Magnus and I were quite startled by
what we saw.

A small cart, riveted together
from great slabs of iron, sat unmoving in a dark hollow, crouching like an
animal on a bed made of steel
rails, that
ran together
in parallel lines, upon a series of wooden beams. Beneath these was a floor of
gravel, and, when I looked further, I saw that the hollow was in fact a tunnel,
opening off into the darkness; and that the bed on which the cart sat followed
it, threading in a more or less straight line away into the distance. Neither
Magnus nor I had ever seen such a thing, though I supposed it must be some form
of transportation. I presumed that
Chayter
would
harness a horse to it, as a means of getting quickly to our destination; though
I could not see where horses might be stabled down here.

Instead, he opened a door in
the side, and invited us to join him within, where we found two benches, thinly
upholstered, one in front of the other; and as he sat upon the first, we
climbed on to the one behind, which seemed the right thing to do, and he closed
the door.

Magnus and I watched,
fascinated, as he fiddled with levers and wound handles, muttering to himself
all the while; and I must confess I was undecided as to whether now might not
be a good time to give him the slip, and continue our journey alone; but then
the carriage, as he called it, started ever so slowly to move.

I could not see exactly how
this was achieved, except for the brief glimpses I had of
Chayter’s
hand on a small wheel, or of his foot working some kind of pump in the floor of
the vehicle. But I did not worry overmuch about the means by which we
travelled; I was more concerned by what might lie at the other end, and this
tempered my glad relief at the cool breeze on my face, and the sweeping clack
of the carriage against the rails.

I suppose it was a full ten
minutes or so that we travelled through the darkness of the tunnel, and indeed
at one point it grew almost pitch, despite the occasional pools of light that
fell from shafts in the ceiling above. I was pleased to see the light increase
as we started to slow, the friction of the wheels on the track below making a
kind of burning smell, like bread left too long in the oven. By the time we
cornered the final bend, we were hardly above walking pace, and the carriage
rolled sedately into a high, narrow room, panelled in oak and ceramic tiling,
on which was engraved countless small facsimiles of the Emperor Justin’s coat
of arms. We came to a halt about halfway along a wide platform, which abutted
the tracks, and was set a little above them, so that one could alight from the
carriage without having to step down; nevertheless,
Chayter
kindly helped us by opening the door, and guiding us gently on to solid ground.
As I turned, I noticed the rails went on ahead, returning again to the
darkness.

“Yes,” said
Chayter
,
noticing my look. “They go on for a good couple of miles yet.”

He shuffled quickly towards one
of three arched exits, leading away from the carriage platform, chatting as he
went.

“This was the underground
railway, used by the emperors and their retinue. It ran all the way to the
Imperial Palace once. They could avoid being seen by the
hoi polloi
…” He
chuckled. “Of course you know all this, being the children of a lord. I must
say, you look rather
different
to the way His Grace described you when
he asked that I show you around. But my eyesight is not what it was, and the
light is not always terribly good down here. Now, follow me: this way…”

I stopped to gaze upward at the
vaulted ceiling, high above, the light leaking down from hidden fissures upon
my face; and there was a cool moisture in the air, and a scent of damp stone
and fresh water, that I breathed in gratefully. But when I looked down, Magnus
was at my side, as he always was, and he had an accusing look in his eye.

We trotted behind
Chayter
through the wide tunnels into which we now emerged,
occasionally climbing a stair, or looping along a broad corner, and I realized
we were heading upward again, and the floors were becoming smoother, and the
walls more decorative. Murals of dead kings, and the vast landscaped gardens in
which they had walked, filled every available space, as we made our approach to
a small lobby - whitewashed at its tips, and meanly furnished with richly
embroidered chairs that clearly no bottom had graced for many years, if ever -
which itself was the anteroom to a large and empty hall, its double-staircase
fanning outward to the floor, and its wooden balconies looking down on us from
their high vantage.

“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.

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 where 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.