“Does that book say anything about the neogi?” Teldin interrupted. He had not come this far to chat with a curious Aesthetic. He wanted information.
“Nee-ogi?” the monk intoned. He plunged back into the folio’s pages. When he resurfaced a few moments later, his face showed no sign of success. “Astinus says nothing of them here.”
Teldin dropped the question. He did not want to explain who or what the neogi were to this monk. It just did not seem prudent. “So the gnomes of Mount Nevermind might know more about spelljamming?” And my cloak? Teldin thought.
“It would seem so,” Maltor confirmed as he stood to put the book away. “As I said, more than one of these ships has visited there.’’
“Where is it?” Teldin demanded, following the librarian.
“Mount Nevermind? Why, on Sancrist Isle. It is the homeland of the gnomes.” Maltor puffed himself up, showing off a little of his own scholarliness. “The gnomes are a remarkable and underrated people-a little impractical, perhaps. They design the most cunning and amazing machines. With that alone, they may be able to help you."
“There’s nothing else here?” Teldin asked with a slight touch of desperation. He pointed to the rows upon rows of books. Sancrist was a long sea journey away, beyond the shores of Ansalon. Going there would only take him farther from his home.
“Not according to Master Astinus,” the monk replied as he unsteadily climbed the ladder and replaced the book. “You must go. There is nothing more we can do.” Maltor descended again and led the two visitors out of the library’s depths. He went bustling down the hall, frequently checking to see that Teldin and Gomja still followed him. However, the library, with all its side rooms and stacks, no longer interested the farmer. The audience with Astinus and Maltor’s research, however unsatisfying, were all that had interested him. Neither he nor the giff made any attempt to wander.
As they drew closer to the exit, a tall, brown-robed Aesthetic, the first Teldin had seen in the halls on the way out, hurried their way. Instead of passing by on some mysterious errand, however, the man called out as they neared. “Master Maltor!” the tall Aesthetic nearly shouted. “Master Maltor-at the door, more of them!’
“Eh?” remarked Maltor, coming to an abrupt halt. Wiry and nimble, Teldin stepped to the side, barely avoiding a collision. Gomja was not so quick and plowed into Maltor’s back, almost sending the Aesthetic sprawling. The doorkeeper shot Gomja a vituperative look, though his tongue-lashing was stayed by the arrival of his fellow Aesthetic.
"Master doorkeeper,” the newcomer said urgently as he approached, “there are more strangers at the door, demanding admittance. They want to see these two.” The tall man nodded toward Teldin and Gomja. “The strangers even described our visitors!”
“Vandoorm!” Teldin breathed. He looked up at Gomja. The giff nodded in agreement. “Damn, he moves fast!” Teldin could only guess that the captain, once he and his men had recaptured their horses, had ridden the mounts to death to reach Palanthas so quickly. Maltor could not help noticing the urgent looks that passed between his two guests.
“Do they still wait outside?” the doorkeeper inquired of his fellow.
‘‘Yes, sir.
“Tell them to wait, then, Tamros,” Maltor explained. “Their friends will be coming soon enough. Send a boy for the city guard. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Tamros said weakly.
Maltor gave the novice a gentle clap on the back. “Good. Don’t worry. Everything will be all right. Do as I told you.” The lesser Aesthetic nodded and hurried back in the direction from which he had come.
Satisfied that the man was carrying out his orders, Maltor turned back to his guests. “I assume these men are not friends of yours.”
“No, sir,” Teldin practically spat. ‘Vandoorm’s a mercenary. He and his men tried to kill us last night.” While the farmer spoke, Gomja peered out a window, trying to get a view of the front entrance.
“I see,” mused Maltor, the nervous tic returning to his face. “You understand that I am under no obligation to help you.”
“I am ready to fight them, sir,” Gomja offered, drawing himself up to his full seven-foot height.
Maltor sighed. “This would not be good. If I show you another way out, will you leave and never visit us again?”
“You have my word,” Teldin eagerly accepted.
“Then follow me this way-to the servants’ entrance.” Maltor turned and began walking hack down the hall.
“Come on, Gomja,” Teldin hissed, “and keep the knives put away. There’ll be no fighting today.”
“But, sir!” Gomja protested. “We can still heat them!”
Chapter Eleven
Maltor closed the small gate to the kitchen gardens behind him, leaving Teldin and Gomja standing on a quiet side street well away from the front entrance to the Great Library. The lane was narrow and crooked, lined by courtyard walls occasionally pierced by windows and doors. Somewhere children kicked a ball around the dusty alley, their voices reaching the strange pair by the gate. Carefully looking up and down the small lane, Teldin reassured himself that none of Vandoorm's men was watching.
"Just where are we going, sir?" Gomja asked. The giff purposely included himself in the question.
Teldin prepared to deny the giff's inplied request, then paused, remembering Gomja's performance of the previous night. When the giff could have deserted and left Teldin to Vandoorm, he had not. Instead the creature had taken a chance. "We… are going to Mount Nevermind."
"Where is that, sir? Someplace called Sancrist, didn't the fat one say?" A pleased grin already began to play across Gomja's face.
"Sancrist lies west of here, over the ocean — or so I'm told," Teldin explained. "It's where a good deal of the Whitestone army came from."
As they walked, they reached a small well at an alcove, and Teldin stared down at the still water. It had been weeks since he had seen his reflection. Looking at it now, the farmer saw that his sun-bleached brown hair had grown longer and was wild and unruly. Dirt smudged his face and two weeks ' worth of stubble covered his chin. His good looks were almost obscured by grime. "I've heard it by report. Never been there myself," Teldin added absentmindedly as he rubbed at the dirt on his chin.
"And Mount Nevermind?" Gomja scooped up a dipperful of water and slurped at it noisily. Liquid dribbled out of the corners of his mouth.
Teldin stopped his preening. "A gnome hole, apparently, judging from what the Aesthetic said. I've never heard of it. Of course, I never met any gnomes during the war — they mostly kept to themselves, manning the catapults out along the bay."
Gomja gulped down his water. "I've heard they travel among the stars. My sire — I mean, father — once told me 'Never sign on a gnome ship.' Their captains are supposed to be mad and their ships — " Gomja paused for a moment, at a loss of words — "are unique." He grimaced at the thought then, drying his mouth, seemed to wipe the expression from his face.
"It doesn't sound as if you'll have much of a choice, and neither will I," Teldin pointed out. "It's the gnomes or nothing."
"Yes, sir," Gomja answered glumly.
Taking the lead again, Teldin continued toward toward the main street. The children at their game still shouted loudly behind him. "Here's our plan. First, we get away from here. After all, Vandoorm's smart enough to look around back. Next, we get a room, because I want to get cleaned up." Teldin ticked each point off on his fingers. "Third, we go to Sancrist." The farmer paused at that point. "If I remember rightly, folks got there during the war either by flying or by sailing. Wouldn't know any dragons would you?" the human sarcastically asked.
"Oh, no, sir," Gomja answered earnestly. The giff's face was solemn.
Teldin winced at the alien’s earnest naivete. “Then I guess we sail,” he allowed through chuckles. “To the waterfront, then.” Teldin pointed forward, then suddenly stopped just as they reached the street. “Gomja, make sure that blanket is wrapped tightly around you. We’ve already made things too easy for Vandoorm.”