Teldin had to laugh, his suspicions dispelled by his companion's easy manner. "Well said, Djan Alantri," he said with a smile. "So just where is this Great Archive of yours?"
"We're not far from it," Djan answered. "Head up this street here. When you reach the main square, turn right. You can't miss it." He paused. "If you like," he suggested, "after our meal I can take you there. Perhaps even help you find whatever it is you need. The filing system is… interesting."
Teldin hesitated. It was a kind offer, and a valuable one, too. He'd already been worrying about how he'd find the information he needed-considering the fact that he wasn't the most accomplished reader-even without hearing about the "interesting" filing system. But he instinctively wanted to avoid telling anyone that he was looking for information about the Spelljammer.
"Thanks for your offer," he said, "but I can't tie up that much of your time." He hesitated again! "But," he added impulsively, "if you'd like to meet me for a glass of wine- here-after evenfeast…"
The half-elf's smile broadened. "I would be honored, Aldyn Brewer," he replied politely.
*****
I should have known better, Teldin told himself wryly. Anytime someone says "You can't miss it," you're going to have the Dark Queen's own time finding what you're looking for. He chuckled dryly. The half-elf, Djan, had neglected to point out that Compact had several large courtyards that a visitor could mistake for the "main square." Teldin had based his search on one of those, and it had taken him almost an hour to literally stumble across the Great Archive.
At least his wanderings hadn't been interrupted by any more fervent Marrakites out looking for unbelievers to discipline. As soon as he'd left Djan at the wineshop, he'd ducked into a deserted side street and seen to his appearance. He looked down at his garb, simple breeches and jerkin of rough-looking gray homespun. If this doesn't follow the Way of the Plain, I don't know what does, he mused. Taking a fold of fabric between his thumb and forefinger, he rubbed the cloth. Although it looked like homespun, it still felt like the smooth, expensive fabric of his black outfit. He shook, his head in puzzlement. Sometimes when he used the cloak-now shrunk to the size of a necklace-to change his appearance, all details were changed, including, texture. Other times, however, there were surprising inconsistencies-like now. The results seemed totally unpredictable.
Oh, well, he thought with a shrug, it won't matter for the moment. All I have to do is stay away from suspicious tailors.
The Great Archive was one block ahead of him. He could see it clearly now. The street he was on was narrow, which surprised him a little. Shouldn't a thoroughfare leading to one of the city's most significant features be wider, more prominent? It wasn't even as busy, as crowded, as the other streets he'd wandered down, lost. He was surrounded by gray-clad natives of Compact, but no more than a dozen. He shrugged. It didn't really matter, did it? He headed toward the archive.
And that's when he saw the figure ahead of him. It was a large man, dressed in sand-brown sheepskin and leathers. He was broad and muscular, with curly black hair that fell to his shoulders. The man looked as out of place among the smaller, drably clad Marrakites as a wolf among lambs. He had his back turned to Teldin as he looked out over the small square in front of the archive. As Teldin watched, he started to turn.
He's dangerous. Very dangerous. The thought flashed into Teldin's mind without warning, with the intensity and suddenness of a mental shout. He had no idea where the thought came from, but that very fact made it impossible to ignore. Without hesitation, Teldin stepped off the road, into a narrow alleyway-quickly, before the curly haired man could turn and spot him. He flattened against the rough brick wall of a building. His heart pounded a triphammer beat in his ears. He held his breath….
Just what the hell do I think I'm doing? he asked himself. Where did that reaction come from?
Who was that man to drive him to hide? Nobody that Teldin knew-just another stranger to the city of Compact. The Cloakmaster had reacted to the mental warning of danger… but where had that warning come from, and why should he trust it? With a muttered curse, he stepped out from the alley again, and looked around for the broad-shouldered figure. But the man was gone, without any clue of the direction he had taken.
Teldin cursed again. What in the Abyss had just happened? he asked himself again. Where had that sensation of danger come from? From the cloak? Certainly, the ultimate helm sometimes fed him information, or enhanced his senses-he recalled how it had let him see through the magical disguise of Celestial Nightpearl, the radiant dragon-but had this been an example of the same kind of thing?
Or had his mind started to play tricks on him? Was this the first sign of the onset of paranoia? He definitely had reason enough to distrust strangers, considering his recent experience….
No. He shook his head firmly. Smoothing his drab gray attire, he strode down the last block, crossed the small courtyard to the Great Archive, and climbed the marble steps toward the big double door.
The archive was a huge building, sprawling over two city blocks. Constructed of finely dressed blocks of gray-white marble, it seemed to combine half a dozen architectural styles. Tall and narrow archways opened into broad, squat-looking colonnades. Pillars of several different styles flanked the stairway, and mismatched carvings and bas-reliefs covered the front facade. In any other setting, the mismatch of techniques would have looked chaotic, even ugly. The sheer size of the Great Archive made it all right, however. While Teldin would have found fault with a smaller building, the archive was so daunting that he simply accepted it: the archive was, and that's all there was to it. He hesitated a moment, then pushed open one of the huge, blackened oak doors and stepped inside.
He wasn't exactly sure what he'd been expecting. If he'd been pressed for an answer, he'd probably have expected the Great Archive to consist of small, claustrophobic rooms lined, floor to ceiling, with shelves of leather-bound books and carefully rolled scrolls. But nothing's ever quite what I expect it to be, is it? he asked himself silently.
The double doors opened onto a great circular hall, at least a dagger cast across. It looked totally empty: no people, no shelves of books. Around the periphery he saw arched doorways, leading off into the depths of the building. Right across from him, diametrically opposite the door, was a large, ornate wooden structure, like a huge magistrate's bench. It, too, seemed empty. He took a couple of steps across the polished marble floor toward the bench, his footsteps echoing hollowly, and stopped.
The hall was almost as high as it was wide, walls and columns stretching up, ten times or more the height of a man, to a hemispherical dome above. The dome had windows set into it, windows formed of many small, irregularly shaped pieces of crystal, each a different color. The ruddy light of Crescent's sun shone down through them, its beams scattering into fragments and spears of a hundred hues, each dazzling his eyes as the multicolored stars of wildspace did.
It took him a few moments of staring to realize that the colored glasses actually formed pictures. Men and women, three times life-size, strolled through forests of emerald green, under impossibly blue skies, or sat around tables in rooms hung with crimson and gold curtains. In a dozen frames, people dressed in flowing robes of luminous colors did incomprehensible things.
Something tapped Teldin's left hip. With a start, he looked down.
A small figure, dressed in gray shirt and baggy gray pantaloons, stood beside him, staring up at him. Brilliant green eyes flashed out of a weather-tanned face, framed with tightly curling brown hair. The figure was a gnome, quite obviously.