Goldenhand (17 page)

Clayr's Glacier, Old Kingdom

T
here was an easier but much slower way down from the paperwing hangar than the Starmount Stair. Called the Long Stretches, it was a series of switchbacked, gently inclined corridors that gained their name from the two and a half leagues they took to drop two thousand paces. It was a long way to walk after a day's flying, much too far for Nick in his current state. He was once again put into a hammock-like stretcher, and carried by four rangers at a time, taking turns. There were eight rangers walking with them now, Mirelle having summoned more of an escort. The commander accompanied them, but stayed well ahead like a racehorse that can't help but be in front.

Lirael trudged by Nick's stretcher, sunk in weariness and deep in her own thoughts. No one talked, and they did not meet anyone, hardly a surprise this high up in the Clayr's abode. Any sensible person with business in the paperwing hangar would take the stairs.

At least it was pleasantly warm in the Long Stretches. As in most of the Clayr's vast subterranean habitat, the corridors were heated by steam pipes from the hot springs far below. Ancient clever engineering was aided by judicial use of Charter Magic and the constant labors of the usually rather grimy engineers from the Steamworks. Charter marks in the ceiling and walls, refreshed and recast every decade or so, also provided the soft, constant light.

Though she had rarely used the Long Stretches, walking in that particular Charter light and feeling the unique, humid warmth
provided by the steam pipes stirred up Lirael's confused feelings of both being home and not being at home. She had always felt something of an outsider here, but growing up had known nowhere else. Back then she had never considered the possibility of living away from the Glacier, or having a life that was not as one of the Clayr. This had lasted right up until the final revelation that she would never have the Sight, and instead had an entirely different destiny as an Abhorsen.

Now she was experiencing what it was to return to the place of her childhood, where she had always desperately hoped she would one day permanently and properly belong. With it came the clear understanding that though this was her heritage, it was only that: something of her past that would not come again. She had become someone and something else, whose life and future lay apart from being one of the Clayr.

Lirael was thinking about this, and how she now felt so different from her younger self, as if she was an entirely new person in a way. She was thinking so deeply about this she was slow to notice a party of librarians coming up the Long Stretches to meet her and the new addition to the library collection.

When she did see them, the sight made Lirael's heart leap in a joyful recognition that had not come with her entrance into the halls of the Clayr. She smiled to see the familiar uniforms and faces, and most particularly at one of the junior librarians at the back who was trying to read and walk at the same time, thinking herself far enough behind to be hidden from view.

It was a formal procession. The party was led by the imposing figure of Vancelle the Chief Librarian herself, in a night-black waistcoat with the sword Binder at her side; followed by two deputies in white waistcoats, ceremonial axes on their shoulders—though these were only ceremonial in the sense of being gilded and adorned, they were still useful weapons; then four First Assistants, their waistcoats
blue and their ceremonial weapons short-staved halberds with blue tassels; eight Second Assistants with curved scimitars, in red waistcoats like Lirael's own, which was in a chest with camphor balls back in the palace in Belisaere; and a gaggle of Third Assistant Librarians in yellow waistcoats, bearing long spears, the heads bright with new-laid Charter marks placed there only on very special occasions.

All of them, of course, bore dagger, whistle, and clockwork emergency mouse, the standard equipment of the Clayr's librarians. They would not set foot outside the great Reading Room far below without these essential items.

Lirael had herself been a member of such ceremonial parties, as a Third and then Second Assistant Librarian, greeting notables such as the King himself, or Sabriel, or the Lord Mayor of Belisaere. But always far back in the throng, like the Third Assistant who was still reading her book. Lirael had never thought to be at the forefront, or to be greeted in such a way herself.

Both groups stopped a dozen paces short of each other, and Vancelle came forward and bowed to Lirael, who returned the greeting. But that done, the Librarian moved closer and embraced the younger woman, which was a surprise.

“You have done great things,” said Vancelle. “And all of us in the Library are very, very proud of you.”

“Thank you,” said Lirael. She fought back the tears in her eyes, because though she no longer felt she was one of the Clayr, she still felt she was a
librarian
and always would be, no matter what else she had become as well.

“We have some gifts, long prepared for your return,” said Vancelle, indicating two First Assistants who carried ornate boxes: one long and thin; the other almost a cube. Both were made of dark red cedar with elaborately cast hinges, edges, and lockplates of shining gold. One of the First Assistants was Lirael's old friend Imshi, who had carried out Lirael's induction to the Library almost six years
before, assigning her dagger, whistle, and mouse. Imshi smiled and waggled her little finger in greeting, all she could move without dropping the box.

“But perhaps having waited these last months, they can wait a little longer, until you are settled,” said Vancelle, noting the weariness in Lirael's eyes. She peered past the young Abhorsen-in-Waiting to where Nick was asleep in his hammock, looking very pale and sick. “That is Nicholas Sayre? The young man from Ancelstierre who was an unwitting servant of Orannis? And you bring him to us for examination?”

“Yes,” said Lirael. It was a relief to tell Vancelle about Nick; it seemed to lessen the responsibility she felt herself. “He bears an unsullied Charter mark, but he is also deeply contaminated with Free Magic, almost as much as if he were a creature himself. But he isn't! And I am sure will not become one, though I have no real . . . I have no real facts to support that. It is a mystery I would like to unravel, and so I thought to bring him here. To the Infirmary first; he was wounded again, only last night—”

“The Infirmary is full of those struck down with this current influenza,” said Vancelle. “But we will take him onward now, so Mirelle's people can return outside. Perhaps he would be best put in your rooms?”

“My room!” exclaimed Lirael. “My old room? There's no space, I mean, there's only one bed—”

“No, no, you have the Abhorsen's Rooms,” said Vancelle, smiling. “On the Southscape. A dozen bedrooms at least, several sitting rooms, a very extensive bathhouse . . . all from the days when the Abhorsens were more populous, and a score or more might visit at the same time.”

“Oh,” said Lirael. She hadn't thought beyond getting Nick settled in the Infirmary, and it had never occurred to her she would have such important guest rooms. The adjustment of being the
Abhorsen-in-Waiting she had begun to make elsewhere was slower to take place here. “Yes. That would be good. But perhaps if someone from the Infirmary could come and take a look at him? He proved very resistant to my healing spells, but I would like to try another . . . I mean, I would like someone else, more skillful in the healing arts, to try another spell to speed his recovery from loss of blood.”

“I'm sure the Infirmarian herself will come as soon as possible,” said Vancelle. “But in the meantime if you do not object, I will see what I may do. You may not know it, but I worked in the Infirmary for more than three decades, before I went to the Library.”

“Oh, thank you,” stammered Lirael. She was often surprised by the older Clayr, who had all done so much. They generally looked much younger than their true ages so it was easy to forget they might have had several different long-term careers within (or without) the Glacier. Vancelle had ash-grey hair and some powerful lines upon her face, but even so Lirael did not think she looked any more than sixty-five. However, she had to be in her nineties at least. Even this was not a great age among the Clayr. Most did not take to their dreaming rooms until they were well past their century, and the majority didn't die for a few decades after that. This extended life span was generally accepted to be somehow related to the Sight and exposure to the use of Charter Magic in the Observatory.

“I will leave you to these most capable librarians,” said Mirelle. She bowed to Lirael, and then to Vancelle. Though she spoke with no apparent lack of sincerity, Lirael knew there was a long history of rivalry between the librarians and the Rangers, one protecting the Clayr mainly from without, the other mainly from within. Both provided most of the soldiers on the rare occasions the Clayr sent an expeditionary force away.

“Thank you,” said Lirael. “I am glad you didn't leave us out in the cold, despite rule thirty-four.”

“Rule thirty-six,” corrected Mirelle, straight-faced as ever. “Rule thirty-four is concerned with the ways and means of traversing the glacier, and when not to do it. Which is most of the time.”

She bowed to them all again, and seeing that several Third Assistant Librarians had given their spears to others to hold in order to take over Nick's hammock-stretcher from Calleset and her companions, Mirelle indicated for the rangers to follow. She set off back up the Long Stretches at a fast jog, lesser rangers loping behind. Lirael watched them for a moment, feeling a strong sense of relief she had never been silly enough to ask to join the Rangers rather than the librarians.

Lirael talked quietly with Vancelle as they walked, telling her how she had found Nick and what she had done; what he had told her about the Hrule in the south; and the strange behavior of the bells when Nick was being brought through the Wall. The Librarian asked few questions but kept Lirael talking, and the young Abhorsen-in-Waiting found herself opening up about far more than just the recent events, at least until she realized she was doing so and immediately clammed up.

The Long Stretches eventually joined the Westway for a brief distance, and from there they took the little-used Second Back Curve to the Southscape, that most important corridor where many of the senior Clayr lived, which included the Chief Librarian's official residence. Walking past it, seeing the symbol carved by the door, Lirael was reminded of stealing the sword Binder there one midnight, aided by the Dog. She'd needed it to confront the Stilken, and the Dog had returned it before Vancelle woke up. At least that's what Lirael had always supposed had happened, but as they went by she cast a nervous sideways glance at the imposing straight-backed old lady who was marching along next to her, and wondered how much the Librarian knew about that, and perhaps much else.

The Abhorsen's Rooms were not much farther along. Word had obviously been sent ahead, or someone had finally Seen something, because a gang of young Clayr from the current roster on general duties were there in their probably-clean-that-morning aprons, busy mopping the stone floor in the corridor outside and dusting the front door, which was an imposing slab of black granite without any visible doorknob, handle, or lock.

“You'll need to open it,” said Vancelle. “These rooms haven't been used in a long time. Sabriel prefers the royal chambers. A touch should do it.”

Lirael nodded and wearily laid her hand upon the cool stone slab. It shivered under her palm, and then slowly swung inward. It was dark inside at first, but Charter marks for light slowly began to blossom, many of them set in patterns in the ceiling to mimic the stars at night, arranged in familiar constellations.

“After you,” said Vancelle to Lirael. The Librarian turned to her deputies and spoke to them quietly as Lirael went through the door. Most of the staff departed, going back to their duties, leaving only Vancelle, Imshi and the other present-carrier, and the four rangers carrying Nick in his stretcher.

Lirael halted as what appeared to be a forgotten piece of sacking near the door rose up in front of her, Charter marks swirling, trailing lines of light as they stitched together a human-shaped servant to inhabit the decayed tunic. When sufficiently materialized, this Sending bowed before Lirael. As it bore no weapons, it was not a guard Sending, but some sort of door warden, she guessed. It bowed to the others as they came in, hesitating at Nick, bending forward like a suspicious dog sniffing something it was unsure about. But it did not try to bar his passage, and finally bowed to him as well.

The reception room was not at all like Lirael's old, rather bare room in the Hall of Youth. There was a rich woolen carpet on the
floor, in deep blue with silver keys embroidered around the edges and an abstract but recognizable bell motif in the center. Several comfortable but low armchairs of supple dark brown leather lined one wall, with small tables between them for books and drinks. There was a hat-stand of wrought black iron near the door, adjacent to a sword-rest of carved mahogany with ivory inserts with space for a dozen swords; and a strange narrow bookshelf that shimmered with Charter marks. It took Lirael a few moments to work out this was another kind of rest, for bell bandoliers to be laid upon one of the felt-lined shelves.