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“Almost certainly,” Dolsan nodded. “But it’ll be easier if we can pinpoint the era and Name we’re interested in.”
“Of course.” Temar bent over the creased and dingy parchment he’d been studying and Dolsan turned over tattered leaves he’d fetched from a dusty chest. Their soft fall was the only sound to disturb the graceful room. The walls were shelved from floor to ceiling, with only lavishly embroidered curtains hung at long windows to soften the all-encompassing severity of the thick leather tomes. A carpet richly patterned in gold and green carried a wide table polished to a glorious sheen surrounded by stylish chairs with cushions in D’Olbriot colours and several lamp stands stood ready to shed illumination if needed. A black marble fireplace with a gold-framed mirror over the mantel claimed the only expanse of wall not given over to books, fresh summer flowers bright instead of flames in the grate. The only incongruous note in all this sophistication was the stack of dark, dusty record chests inconveniencing anyone wanting to move around.
“We may have something here,” Temar said after a while. “This inventory of the Maitresse Odalie’s jewels mentions a silver brooch set with malachite. It came to her as part of an inheritance from a Tor Priminale aunt who died childless. We are missing a brooch like that and the woman it belonged to was from a family owing duty to Den Fellaemion.”
“Who were subsumed into Tor Priminale during the Chaos,” agreed Dolsan. “The fact you can read archaic script makes this so much easier, you know.” He reached for a vast sheet of parchment covered in fine writing. “Here we are, marriages under Kanselin the Droll. Odalie had four daughters, two of whom married within the Name, one married into D’Istrac, and the youngest married into Den Breval.”
Temar glanced up. “Do you know anyone serving either Name?”
Dolsan leaned on his elbows, cupping his face in his hands.
“I know a couple of clerks working for D’Istrac, but Den Breval’s a northern House; their archive’s in Ast. I know Den Breval had to defend in an argument over grazing rights a few years back. They’d have hired Toremal help for that and I might find someone who knows something, at least where any copies of Den Breval records might be lodged. Remote Names often leave things in the Toremal archives of allied Houses.”
“Ryshad was right when he said you were the man for this job.” Temar shook his head. Would he ever get all these Names and their relations straight? It was doubtless all very well if you imbibed such things with mother’s milk but this flood of information all at once threatened to choke him. “But I admit I expected a sober old man with a long grey beard.”
Dolsan smiled as he returned to his ancient records. “That sounds like my grandsire.”
“He was a clerk? You followed his trade?” Temar nodded; of course that would be the way of it.
Dolsan looked up. “Oh, no, he just had the beard. He was a cobbler, and my father after him. But we’re D’Olbriot tenants and that means the chance of better schooling than most. My teachers said I had a talent for words and recommended me to the Sieur’s Archivist.”
“Do you enjoy your work?” asked Temar curiously.
“Very much,” laughed Dolsan. “And anything’s better than spending the days pricking my thumbs with a leather needle.”
“You must meet the scholars we have in Kel Ar’Ayen.” They shared this bizarre, intense determination to tease the truth of history from faded records and partial accounts, Temar recalled.
“Perhaps, one day,” Dolsan said politely.
A tap on the door made them both turn their heads. “Enter,” called Dolsan when it was clear Temar wasn’t about to respond.
“Good day to you, Esquire, Master Clerk.” Allin slid into the room, closing the door behind her. “ I was looking for Demoiselle Tor Arrial?”
“Avila?” Temar shook his head. “She has gone out with Lady Cha
“Oh.” Allin looked uncertain. “Oh dear.”
“Why did you want her?” Temar seized this welcome distraction from the documents stacked before him.
“It wasn’t anything important,” said Allin in unconvincing tones. “Don’t let me disturb you.”
The gatehouse struck the five chimes of noon and Dolsan let slip a sigh of relief. “My lady, I think we’ve earned a break, so you’re not interrupting us.” He got to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, Esquire, I’ll go and eat. How soon would you like me back here?”
“Take your time, have a decent meal and some fresh air.” Temar turned to Allin. “May I escort you to the upper hall?”
“Oh, no, thank you but it’s not really—” stammered Allin.
Temar looked at her pink cheeks. “Dolse, would you do us a small service?”
The clerk turned on the threshold. “Esquire?”
“Could you send word to the kitchens. We’ll eat in here, nothing too elaborate.” Temar turned to Allin with a faint smile. “I am hardly in the mood for formality either.”
Dolsan hesitated. “You won’t get food or drink near any documents?”
“Of course not.” The door closed behind the clerk and Temar began folding parchments along their dusty creases. “Please, do be seated. So, why did you want Demoiselle Tor Arrial?”
Allin took a chair, reached for a skein of faded ribbon and began tying documents into neat bundles. “Oh, nothing important.” She blushed when she saw Temar’s raised brows. “Well, Velindre said it wasn’t.”
“May I be the judge of that?” Temar didn’t see why Allin should always have other people telling her what to do and what not to do, even he must.
Allin fumbled in the pocket of her skirt. “Velindre’s come to the Festival to find out what the Tormalins think of magic these days.” She unfolded coarse paper. “So we’ve been picking up handbills, to see if any wizards are earning money from magical displays.”
Temar read the blocky letters aloud. “ ‘Saedrin locks the door to the Otherworld to mortals but a few favoured ones may listen at the keyhole. Poldrion charges mortals the ferry fee he judges his due but brings visions back across the river of death without charge. Many questions may be answered by those with the sight to see them. Seek your answers from Mistress Maedura at the Fetterlock I
Allin shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Velindre thinks it’s just some confidence play to trick gullible Lescaris out of their coin.”
“Why Lescaris?” Temar was puzzled.
Allin sighed. “Trying to see something of the Otherworld, it’s rather a Lescari obsession. Everyone’s lost so many friends, families get split up, sons go off to fight and never return. People use all ma
“I am confused.” Temar rubbed a hand over his hair. “What has this to do with Demoiselle Tor Arrial?”
“I wondered if it might be aetheric enchantment if it wasn’t elemental magic.” The plump girl set her jaw, giving an unexpected strength to her round face. “I wondered if the Demoiselle might come with me?” Allin raised hopeful eyes to Temar.
He didn’t think it fair to tell her the scathing response she’d probably get. “Will Velindre not accompany you?”
“She has a di
Temar was diverted by sudden curiosity. “What do wizards do in Tormalin?”
Allin looked at him with faint surprise. “They earn a living, same as everywhere else. Those with fire affinity help metalworkers and foundries, those linked to water find work with shipbuilders or something like that. But there’s still a lingering suspicion of wizards in Tormalin, so they’re only ever given short-term work, for a specific project usually.”