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Leesil and Magiere had tracked and impaled a vampire named Sapphire, only to have the creature vanish when they turned their backs for an instant. Staking a vampire through the heart turned out to be superstition, one that even some vampires believed in. But the tale in the book still left her wondering about Master Shilwise's scribe shop.
Someone had gotten in, without forcing entry, but then had to break out.
Perhaps the creature in this tale was a mage—like Chane or Welstiel—maybe a thaumaturge, working magic of the physical realm. Yes, a vampire mage would have many years to become highly skilled. At a guess, it might learn how to transmute its solid form into a gaseous state at will, and slip through the cracks of a door.
All right, so it was a silly notion for children's ghost tales, but she'd seen stranger things in the last two years. And there was still the puzzle of why whoever had slipped in had to break out.
Wy
"Young Hygeorht!"
Wy
"Surely you didn't need all of these at once for Tilswith's research?"
Wy
Disheveled piles covered the whole table, and a few sheets had slipped off to scatter about the floor.
"Oh… oops," she said. "I must've… I didn't realize…"
With the old master archivist already displeased, she knew better than to offer help in straightening up. She quickly shut the old book.
"Off with you," he huffed, almost to himself. "I should've come sooner and rousted you for supper."
Wy
"Cooked, consumed, and cleaned up," he replied gruffly. "An apprentice just brought down my meal. Best get upstairs and find some leftovers."
Wy
"Be off!" Tärpodious snapped, already gathering sheets into sheaves.
"Thank you for the help," she said, and retrieved her belongings. "And again, I apologize. I'll be more discerning next time."
Wy
"Wy
Tärpodious's sharp call made her whole back cinch tightly. She couldn't help a groan, thinking he'd found some blot of ink she'd missed. She reversed course and peered hesitantly around the edge of the antechamber's opening.
Domin Tärpodious scowled silently at her, and Wy
The old archivist raised a hand, pointing one bony finger toward the passage's other direction.
Wy
Chane waited in the shadows across the street from the Inkwell scriptorium as two young sages emerged with a folio.
He recognized the pudgy girl in gray. She had occasionally been sent out before. But he had never seen the tall young man in a deep blue robe—too old to be an apprentice but perhaps not old enough for a master or domin. It seemed strange that the guild sent a journeyor of metaology to help retrieve tonight's folio.
Chane pulled farther back out of sight.
As the pair passed by, continuing down the street, the girl clutched the folio to her chest and peered nervously about. When they reached the next intersection, Chane pulled up his cloak's hood and followed from a distance. He had no wish to be seen and remembered.
He kept himself in check rather than close too quickly. But he longed to open the folio and read its contents, and driving desire pressed him forward.
The tall journeyor stopped and turned around.
Other city dwellers moved about in the early evening, and Chane continued walking casually. The blue-robed sage sca
"What is it, Dâgmund?" the pudgy girl asked.
"Nothing," the young man answered. He moved on, tugging his shorter companion along.
Chane kept his gait even.
In his time in Bela with Wy
Not while Chane wore Welstiel's old "ring of nothing."
This one possession masked his undead presence from anyone with extraordinary awareness or arcane skills of detection. But still, he had been seen, and he could not allow them to realize they were followed.
Chane turned down a side street.
Once beyond sight, he ran for the next intersection. He turned up a street parallel to the sages' route and slowed a bit. He tried to keep a pace even with the messengers'—or just a little ahead of them. And he knew where they would have to turn.
Three cross streets up, he slowed to hover near the corner.
The pair appeared in the intersection down the way, still following their course. As they passed beyond sight, Chane slipped down the side street to follow them directly.
The main street was slightly more populated with shopkeepers and wanderers heading home for the night, and he might blend in more easily. He glanced aside as a man struggled to calm a slender horse pulling a tarp-covered cart. The horse stomped and snorted. But the sages hurried onward, the girl tightly clutching her folio in both arms.
And the sound of screaming cats exploded on Chane's left. He turned on instinct.
Two large felines spun out of an alley, hissing and swiping at each other. The horse behind him screamed.
"Look out!"
Chane dodged at the shout, but as the panicked horse raced by, the cart clipped his side. He spun and stumbled, but didn't fall. Everyone around stopped to gawk.
"Are you all right?" the vegetable man asked, ru
Chane didn't answer. Both sages had stopped, and the tall male stared straight at him. Recognition dawned on the journeyor's face. Had he been seen back near the Inkwell?
"I am fine," Chane answered in a hoarse whisper. "Go catch your horse." He slipped back down the side street, cursing himself.
Wy
Domin il'Sänke sat reading by the fire.
"Wy
She turned to find Nikolas awkwardly waving her over. Two covered bowls and slices of buttered bread sat on the table in front of him.
"I waited for you," he said.
Domin il'Sänke glanced up from his book.
Wy
"I had research to do," she said, her journal, lamp, and quill still in hand. "Keep the bowls covered a little longer. I'll run these things up to my room and be back."
Her answer brought an odd relief to his face. She knew how it felt to be lonely, or just alone, and when company mattered more than food.