Lord of the Libraries Page 13

  “I don’t know how anyone could put up with such racket,” Craugh griped. “It’s enough to make your ears burst.”

  Juhg had to walk fiercely to keep slightly ahead of the wizard. Craugh didn’t know where they were going, but it didn’t stop him from trying to lead all the same. Several times, the wizard had gone on ahead in the wrong direction in the twisting maze of streets that bore no name. When he’d found he was going in the wrong direction, after Juhg had had to call him back, Craugh’s mood had darkened. Juhg had felt compelled to remind the wizard that a toad would be even slower, and that even if he could talk as a toad, a talking toad would surely call attention from everyone that passed by.

  As if we don’t call attention to ourselves enough already, Juhg reminded himself grimly. There were few dwellers on the island and very few humans as old or as shabby in appearance as Craugh. And none of them were in the company of each another.

  “Are we almost there yet?” Craugh groused.

  “Almost.” Juhg sighed.

  “As far as we’ve come, we might as well have rented one of the canal boats.”

  “I’m not sure I would have found the way. The Grandmagister and I seldom used the boats to get around here.”

  “Wick never mentioned coming to this place.”

  “Maybe he had a reason.”

  “Hrrummph.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, Juhg studied the wizard’s reflection in the plate-glass window of the seamstress’s shop they were passing. Seamstresses weren’t needed by anyone who lived on the island because everyone there sewed or knew someone who did. But the sailors who put into port did hire their services, and merchants who wanted their personal finery handmade came into the shops.

  Craugh’s head turned constantly, surveying the sprawling town around him. Stone buildings rose three and four stories tall on either side of them, festooned with clothing because even the mill workers and loom handlers often created clothes and bedding and curtains they hoped to sell as unique items. The wizard wasn’t as at ease as he tried to project.

  The cloppity-clop-clop of even a dray mare drawing a wagon always caught the wizard’s ear and gave him pause. Screams from children dashing through the neighborhood ululated between the confines of the narrow, twisting alleys, often sparking more such screaming as if the sounds fed off each other. They dashed and ran like dervishes, most of them human, but there were a few dwarves and elves among them. A group of them played tag, one of them using the wizard as a means of defense for a moment by circling Craugh’s legs. Then, with a shrill yell of triumph, he was off again, leading the pack of screaming opponents.

  “And there should be a place for all of these idle children to go,” Craugh growled as he brushed at his robe to straighten the folds out. “That way they wouldn’t be underfoot so.”

  Personally, Juhg enjoyed watching the children at play. Human children were especially inventive, never at rest, never satisfied. And they could make games of the simplest things. The Grandmagister had often said if a group of human children were given a stick or a crate, their imaginations would allow them to think of the sticks as magic wands or swords, to believe—at least for a while—that the crate was a boat or a cave.

  Elven children weren’t so free with their ways because they were tied into nature, constantly distracted by scents and animal trails, even in cities. An elven child paid attention to the wild things that inhabited forests or plains or deserts, and the meeker subset that dwelled in urban areas. Given time and attention, an elven child could mimic and understand the creatures found there.

  Dwarven children, on the other hand, tended to be taught the craft of smithing or gem hunting from the time they could walk and lift the full weight of a hammer or a pick. They were slow to play, preferring to learn the warrior’s skills at axes and anvils as soon as they could.

  “I suppose they could get work at the mills or the looms,” Juhg said with thinly veiled sarcasm. “Of course, children seem to bear the brunt of accidents in industry when they start so young.”

  Craugh scowled. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Or perhaps they could be sent out on ships and travel to dangerous places where goblinkin could conceivably capture them and sell them in awful places like Hanged Elf’s Point.”

  “You annoy me, apprentice.”

  They traveled in silence for a while, steadily climbing the cobblestone road that led up to the hill near the center of the island. A dray pulling a milk wagon with the latest shipment of milk from one of the other islands rolled past them on ironbound wheels.

  “I have never seen so many children in one place,” Craugh commented.

  “Nor have I,” Juhg said. “The people here are blessed, truly. They are unafraid to have children, and they seldom lose them to disease or violence. Here they are loved and given freedom, then trained in the ways of their parents.”

  “I’ve never been here,” Craugh said. “I’d always heard it was crowded. It is.”

  Unable to stop his thought, Juhg said, “Do you know what these islands need?”

  “Need?” Craugh shook his head. “They don’t need anything, apprentice. I’ve never seen a more successful place. Not everyone appears to have wealth and privilege, but they are well-to-do.”

  Taking a quick step, Juhg stepped in front of Craugh, bringing the wizard to a stop. “What they need,” Juhg said in a low voice, “is a library and a school to teach the young. And the old that are willing.”

  Craugh looked at him.

  Juhg hurried on before the wizard cut him off or complained. “As I thought about how best to start releasing the books from the Vault of All Known Knowledge back into the world, I realized that Imarish would be one of the best places to begin.”

  “We’re wasting time here.”

  “No,” Juhg said firmly, “we’re not. You’re here now, Craugh. You bullied your way into being with me, so while you are here at my sufferance, I’ll share my secret with you.”

  “You’re exhausting my patience, apprentice,” Craugh warned.

  “I don’t care,” Juhg declared, and felt a twinge of fear. “Don’t you see what Imarish offers?”

  “What?” Craugh snapped.

  “Safety and room and wealth.”

  “And none of those things they would be willing to share.”

  “That’s the environment it takes to educate a population,” Juhg said. “Take children and give them those three things, and you can show them the world. But it is hard to enjoin a child to be grateful about receiving an education when he’s threatened or has no room to be himself or lacks enough to make himself comfortable with himself and his friends. You could not teach children in slave camps. Their minds would be locked in on merely surviving the day. Nor could you teach the children of a starving people. Even if they could shut out the rumblings of their empty bellies, they would still be haunted by the arguments of their scared and frustrated parents.”

  Craugh only listened.

  “You knew that,” Juhg said. “When you and the other Builders raised the ocean floor from the bottom of the Blood-Soaked Sea to become Greydawn Moors, you designed the island so it held game and fruits and could grow grains and vegetables. Monsters were set free in the Blood-Soaked Sea to patrol the waters and keep our coasts clear. There are no creature enemies on the island that the elven warders can’t tame or eliminate, and we have a dwarven army standing guard there. The humans keep the trade flowing by crewing ships and protecting the waters against any who might be curious or foolhardy enough to brave the monsters.”

  Craugh shook his head. “We need to be moving.”

  “We will.” Juhg waved to the Garment District. “Don’t you see that the same things are offered here? Peace and prosperity. All that is missing is a school or a Library to provide education. Can you imagine what these people, and people like them, would do with an education?”

  “No, I can’t.” But Craugh was peering around that the Garment District with
a little more interest.

  “Imagine it, Craugh. A Library. Schools. Here.” Juhg gestured with his hand. “This place entertains a huge amount of trade. People would come and go. Once teachers were trained, they could accompany ships, educate the crew to read. Some of them would go other places and teach still others. Once a proper Library is set up here, it won’t be long before a new industry could be established among these islands as well. Books could be copied and made according to a buyer’s wishes.”

  “By Librarians?”

  “At first. Then by others skilled solely in copying books. They used to do that, you know, before the Cataclysm. I’ve read about those times.”

  Craugh closed his eyes. “I remember.”

  “It could happen again,” Juhg said, feeling the old excitement as he gave in to his vision. “It could happen here.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Why did you and the Builders elect to populate Greydawn Moors with dwellers and make them the custodians of the Vault of All Known Knowledge?” Juhg watched the wizard closely, thinking perhaps for just a moment he saw uneasiness in him.

  “Dwellers have quick minds,” Craugh said. “And their first inclination is to save their own necks. Both of those traits serve a Library in good stead.”

  “Dwellers also take pride in their laziness as a general rule,” Juhg stated baldly. “They lack ambition. They do only what they have to do to get by. I have seen it over the years. And when the Grandmagister faced the Council before the attack on Greydawn Moors, I saw all of those things again. During this trip, after the Grandmagister’s kidnapping when so many dwarves and elves gave their lives to protect Greydawn Moors in the battle that raged across Yondering Docks while most of the dwellers ran and hid, I remembered all of that. It makes me sick that such a responsibility as the Vault of All Known Knowledge would ever have been entrusted to dwellers.”

  A lump swelled up inside Juhg’s chest. He hated talking so badly of his own people.

  Craugh looked at him, for the first time entertaining the idea of the conversation. “Who else do you think we should have given such a responsibility to?”

  “Anyone would have been better.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me then, apprentice, you talk highly of the humans here in Imarish becoming teachers and Librarians. Do you think they could do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of what, do you suppose?”

  “Of anything.”

  “That caught their fancy, I suppose. But humans have a short attention span for things that don’t interest or concern them. Have you ever realized that, even as long-lived as I am, you know more about histories and literature than I do? Hasn’t that ever struck you before?”

  Juhg thought about that, remembering that time after time—unless it was an event or a place that the wizard had passed through—Craugh seldom had knowledge of those things.

  “I am a powerful wizard,” Craugh said, “and sometimes people attribute all-knowing in the same breath as all-powerful. Most wizards would never dissuade someone from that point of view. But I am not all-knowing. Wick—and you, apprentice—know far more than I do about the whole of the world. I just have no patience for the parts of it that don’t interest me. Dwellers have long lives and prodigious amounts of patience, and more than average intelligence for the most part.”

  A small fingerling of pride moved within Juhg. He had so harshly discounted his people that Craugh’s views were uplifting. Especially since they were also valid.

  “Remember,” Craugh said, “all the libraries of the mainland were shipped to Greydawn Moors and dumped there. No rhyme, no reason. Just dumped. Can you imagine what humans would have done if faced with the generations-long chore of assembling those books into some cohesive whole that made sense?”

  “It would not have been done,” Juhg admitted. “Humans lack the patience to have done something like that.”

  “Yes. I seldom visited the Library in the early days. It was just too hard to find something. Wallowing through all of those books, building shelves, organizing and copying—” Craugh shook his head. “I could not have done it. Even going there to search for books at later dates frustrated me.” He pulled at his chin whiskers. “For a time, though the Librarians of the day were loath to admit it, the Vault of All Known Knowledge was filled with toads and positively vibrated with plaintive croaking. Until I relented and turned them back into dwellers.”

  Is that a threat again? Juhg wondered. Then he decided Craugh was being honest with him.

  “And elves?” Craugh sighed. “Old Ones grace me, but do you imagine what elves would have done if someone suggested a large number of them stayed inside and worked so books could be protected from the elements?” The wizard snorted. “Impossible. We would have had a war on our hands.”

  Juhg knew that was true. “But some of the elves at Greydawn Moors have taught themselves to read.” That had come out at the Grand Council and shocked nearly everyone there.

  “They read some things,” Craugh admitted. “But do you think they took the time to learn as many written and oral languages as the dwellers learn?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “No. That was just a threat the elves brought forward that day while they were supporting Wick’s argument. And have you yet given any thought to what the dwarves’ first response would have been had they been placed in charge of the books?”

  It only took Juhg a moment to see the problem behind that line of logic. “Their first task would have been to build a better book. One that wasn’t so perishable.”

  “Then they would have transferred all the old texts into a uniform book,” Craugh agreed. “Copies would have been made with hammer and chisels instead of a quill and ink. Do you know how long it would have taken to make a copy of a book under those circumstances?”

  Too long, Juhg realized. And how would a book have been that wasn’t made of paper? All the beautiful laminated manuscripts would not exist. Dwarven books were works of art in their own right, but dwarves would never have used paper for their tomes.

  “No, apprentice,” Craugh said, “choosing dwellers to be Librarians was the right thing to do.”

  “It helped that they could be so easily subjugated, though, didn’t it?”

  “Not subjugation,” Craugh said. “They exchanged safety and well-being for task.” He gazed out at the Garment District. “These people have done that as well.”

  “Tasks of their own choosing,” Juhg countered.

  “The dwellers were never held back from being warriors or warders or pirates,” Craugh said. “Several of them back in Greydawn Moors have either gone into business for themselves or work for others. It’s no different than working for the Library. They just perceive it so.”

  Juhg studied the wizard, suddenly understanding. “We would have never come this far if each race didn’t contribute, would we?”

  “No.”

  “And still it didn’t keep us from the darkness. The Vault of All Known Knowledge was destroyed all the same.”

  Craugh was silent for a moment. “No, no it didn’t, apprentice. There was too much evil let loose in the world all those years ago.” He smiled a little. “But you are right about this place. Should we survive the undertaking we now follow, this would be an exemplary place for a school. I will do what I can to help you make that happen. Wick has seldom been able to withstand both of us, and never when we were right.”

  Juhg considered the offer. Is he only offering lip service to get me moving again, or is he sincere? He didn’t know. But he chose to feel generous because they might not even live through the coming ordeal.

  Taking the lead once more, Juhg struck out again.

  Less than an hour later, very near to their goal, a group of men attacked Juhg and Craugh.

  Juhg had only a moment’s warning, hissed through Craugh’s teeth. The warning was apparently brought about by the sudden appearance of a wi
nged crimson gecko that dropped down into the alley where Juhg was leading the way.

  At Craugh’s warning, Juhg froze immediately. His quick eyes darted around, seeing only the gecko clinging to the side of the wall. The thing was barely the length of his hand. Unless it carried poison, the creature possessed no real threat.

  Then hooded men filled both ends of the short, narrow alley. They carried naked blades in their scarred fists. Armor showed in places beneath their traveling cloaks. Other men stood back of them with drawn bows, arrow fletchings touching their jawline. Hard eyes watched them beneath hooded cowls.

  “Hold still,” one of the men ordered, “and you may yet live through this.”

  Craugh shifted like a cornered wildcat, flattening against one wall so he could peer back and forth. The curving wall offered a little defense from the far end of the alley. He snaked out a hand and caught the back of Juhg’s jacket, pulling him in close.

  “Fools,” Craugh snarled contemptuously, “do you know who it is you face?”

  “A dead man by the looks of it,” the leader said, grinning a little. “You’ll be quieter after I’ve slit your gullet for you.”

  “Faugh!” Craugh growled.

  “We were told only to find this dweller,” the man said. He was tall and fair, with a jutting chin and a long nose. “The old man doesn’t matter. Kill him.”

  Two of the archers standing behind their leader released their holds. Their arrows jumped across the distance, well over Juhg’s head and straight for Craugh’s skinny chest.

  With incredible quickness, Craugh swung his staff around and shattered the arrows in midflight. The broken pieces fell down to the cobblestones at his boots.

  The archers looked surprised, but fitted new arrows to bowstring automatically. Five more took aim as well.

  “Kill him,” the leader said again.

  The archers loosed their shafts again. One of them shattered against the stone wall over Juhg’s head. Craugh managed to break four of the arrows, but two of them got through. Both of the arrows lodged in Craugh’s clothing, though, and didn’t find flesh.