“What shall I call you instead, then, ma’am?” Tarfon was asking. Deferentially, but not fawningly, at least. The girl- woman - seemed confident enough of her abilities without being either too arrogantly inflated or too apologetic. Aki had trained her that well, anyway.
“Leen,” said Leen, “just call me that; I don’t stand on ceremony.”
Tarfon swallowed. “Thank you, ah, Leen. What exactly are we going to see, ma’am?”
“If I knew exactly, we wouldn’t be going.”
Leen had been resigned to making the long hike back from the waterfront once again on foot, but luck incarnate in the unlikely vehicle of a fishmonger’s cart unburdened by refugees had intervened. It had been so unburdened, of course, due to the fishmonger’s extortionist demand for passage fare, and to the unfortunate miasma of seafood long gone that attracted a hearty airborne entourage of hopeful waterfowl and questing flies. Since the Scapula had not bothered to relieve her of her money pouch, an accommodation based on cash was quickly struck, hopefully to be reimbursed from the Archival expense account, but clearly nothing short of exorcism would suffice to banish the souls of the departed fish.
Let it be another sacrifice for the cause, then, and perhaps later she’d figure out exactly just what the cause was.
Without even trying to hijack them to an adverse fate the fishmonger dropped them at the palace complex gate and drove off, happily jingling his new stock of coins. Tarfon, a budding bibliophile herself by virtue of her late father’s library and his own inculcation, had of course visited the public stacks on many occasions; Leen vaguely recalled her presence at the ends of aisles and deep in the dust. Tarfon also knew - or had deduced - enough to suspect the existence of the concealed store of the true Archive. Leen had already sworn her to secrecy but the only way to enforce it without laying a geas on her would be through lobotomy. Certain of her predecessors had employed both; Leen, however, thought methods of force a bit extreme. They’d have to see, though. What was that expression the ancients used? “I’ll show you this,” Leen said, “but then I’ll have to kill you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing, just a little bibliophilist humor.” Leen did feel her mood disproportionately improved, however. They now had reached the Reading Room’s wing. The grand entrance was visible far down a hall at their side, but a nearer alcove beckoned. Like the Archives below them, the Reading Room had its back entrances. The Scapula might have set watchers on the obscure paths as well as anywhere, Leen supposed, but then that was hopefully overkill even for him, given that she was supposedly still under lock and bar in the dungeon beneath his headquarters.
This way they might also avoid the oversight of her assistant Vellum, reduced in her absence to holding down the reference desk on the Reading Room floor. She should have probably just closed the place down in honor of the Knitting and today’s particular highlight of festivities, but it was a little late for that now. Maybe next time around.
The staff entrance let into an obscure section of the stacks not far from the rear workroom. Even when the Reading Room was busy, this was scarcely a frequented area; there were not many comparative philologists active at the present, apparently. So - the stacks; then, the staff area; then, the Front Door path. “Follow closely and step where I step,” Leen instructed. Was it time for another bout of wishful thinking? - it was. Very well - hopefully the path guardians were still giving her the leeway they’d extended after Max’s recent shenanigans; hopefully they would still recognize her as herself. If not, this might be a very short trip.
“Is this Creeley’s work?” asked Tarfon, looking around her at the simultaneous advancing and retreating geometries the Entry Hall had been exhibiting of late. “The Arch-Librarian ?”
“Yes,” said Leen, “that’s right.” Maybe the girl really did know something. Old librarians and the history of the Archives were scarcely garden-variety studies either, for anyone but their successors, at any rate. Creeley’s work and the existence of the Archives were supposed to be secret, too, but as with so many other secrets word did seem to get around in interested circles over the centuries.
The guardians were still benign, still actually helpful in places, still willing to accept her authority and extend her courtesies beyond that. How variable had the guardians’ attitudes been in the past? she wondered. Well, if she ever had time she’d have to go back through the journals, see if any of her predecessors had noted mood swings of the sort she’d been experiencing. The priority of that research did not exactly put it at the top of her - oh, here they were.
Leen conducted Tarfon past her own desk and work area down the leaning book rows and through the maze to the section her nephew Robin had discovered, where she manipulated the hidden mechanism beneath the lower shelf. The familiar length of bookcase swung open. Watching it, she realized that she no longer got the slightest twinge of excitement from this, any sense of mystery having been overwhelmed by exasperated frustration. She had never liked puzzles that were too obviously puzzles, either, whether rebus or word game or odd crabbed riddle, but those of course typically had no stakes to them beyond the matter of gain or loss of self-esteem.
For that matter, Tarfon did not act overly impressed either, limiting herself to a speculative “Hmm” and a brief query about whether this kind of thing was characteristic of the Archives, which indeed it was not. At the base of the tight circular stair, she examined the metal walls, the window of thick smoked glass, now lacking any light or motion behind it, and the overall ambience of the hidden room, then listened to Leen’s brief history of the discovery of the enigma. “It spoke?” Tarfon repeated.
“Briefly,” Leen said. “It didn’t use a language I knew.”
Tarfon looked speculatively at her. “Someone spoke to it first?”
“That’s right.”
“Did this person die in the attempt.”
“No,” Leen told her. “The thing hasn’t done anything hostile, just anti-social.”
“Okay,” said Tarfon. “Let’s give it a try.”
Leen recognized six of the first ten languages Tarfon ventured, then lost her way almost completely after that. Perhaps Aki had selected a qualified deputy after all, whatever her age. But perhaps the problem was just not solvable, at least by them, at least not by anyone other than whoever had set - wait a second. “That last one - that’s the same language Max used,” Leen said.
“Max?” said Tarfon. “Maximillian the Vaguely Disreputable? He’s been here and he couldn’t decipher this? He was one of the people who taught me. If he couldn’t -”
“When Max was here he was in a hurry. His attention was on other things.”
“Why not bring him back?”
“He’s in a dungeon.”
Tarfon drew away.
“I didn’t put him there,” Leen said. Since leaving Shaa she had also taken the time to determine Max’s situation. As the architecture of the palace complex went, he was probably not that far from this location, physically, but from the standpoint of access he might as well have been on the moon. Although -