Lord of the Libraries (19 page)
“But I thought you—”
She turned the journal back to him. “Juhg, listen to me. I am Wick’s friend. I am your friend, too. We’ve shared good times and horrible times with each other chasing after one of Wick’s missions. But he would never leave something like this for me. After all the years he’s shared with Craugh, Wick wouldn’t have left this book for him either. That’s why Craugh hasn’t demanded to look at the book himself.” She tapped the journal. “This was meant for you. This is only part of what Wick intended for you to find when you got here.”
Juhg ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t decode it,” he whispered. “I’ve tried. None of it makes any sense.”
“It will all make sense,” she replied. “I can’t imagine Wick ever doing anything that doesn’t make sense.” She paused and studied him. “Your mind just isn’t clear, that’s all. You’re overtired and you’re overworried. Wick always taught me that when I was in such shape I could never be at my best.”
“I can’t sleep.”
Jassamyn flicked his tea cup with her finger. “Not if you keep drinking tea.”
Juhg blew out his breath and folded his arms. “You’re not making this any easier.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Jassamyn looked apologetic. “How bad was it in Greydawn Moors?”
Images flipped through Juhg’s head with painful intensity. “It was horrible. The streets of the city were littered with dead. During the four days it took for
Windchaser
to get repaired enough that she could get underway, Raisho said they gathered dead in from the harbor. Some still washed in with the tide the day he left Greydawn Moors.”
Windchaser
to get repaired enough that she could get underway, Raisho said they gathered dead in from the harbor. Some still washed in with the tide the day he left Greydawn Moors.”
“I can’t imagine it.”
Juhg nodded. “I can’t forget it.”
“Some things should not be forgotten.”
“I can’t forget that the Grandmagister is somewhere out there in enemy hands,” Juhg whispered.
“He’s where he wanted to be. For whatever reason.”
“You didn’t know he was going to do this?”
“No. Cobner and I were told that he would be here. We arrived three days ago. We were also told that you might be with him.”
“And Craugh? Was he supposed to be here as well?”
Jassamyn frowned. “No mention was made of Craugh accompanying him.”
Why was that?
Juhg wondered.
Juhg wondered.
“Craugh didn’t always come with Wick,” Jassamyn said. “You know that. Why do the two of you have tension between you?”
“There’s no tension,” Juhg lied, and knew immediately that his effort had been poor and unsuccessful.
“Perhaps you’d like to try that one again,” Jassamyn suggested. “I knew there was trouble immediately when Craugh didn’t try to take the journal from you or start griping at you to figure out the riddle.”
“We’re having … problems.”
“Well, get them sorted out. We’re going to need all of us to be at our best to do whatever Wick has outlined in that book that must be done.”
If the book can be decoded,
Juhg thought.
Juhg thought.
She must have seen the doubt on his face. “You’re forgetting one thing, Juhg. That book wasn’t written for anyone else to understand. Whatever Wick has written in there, he wouldn’t have needed a book. He would have remembered whatever he wrote. He made the book for you. No matter what else is going on in your mind, know that and trust it.”
Juhg ran his hands over the book. He knew the paper and the binding, knew how all the stitches were put into place to hold it together. He had learned to make books with the Grandmagister.
“It will come,” Jassamyn said. “In the meantime, you need to get some rest.” She pushed up from the table. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Juhg thanked her for her company and her kind words, and stared at the book a while longer.
“She’s right, ye know. Ye ain’t got much done tonight, an’ ye’re gonna get even less done tomorrow because ye don’t know when to give it up an’ rest. Ye’re only flesh and blood.”
Turning toward Raisho’s voice, Juhg spotted the young sailor hunkered
down in the shadows of the stairs. His cutlass rested across his knees.
down in the shadows of the stairs. His cutlass rested across his knees.
“Is everyone up?” Juhg protested.
“Enough of us,” Cobner growled from below. “If you can’t sleep for yourself, sleep for us.”
“She’s a smart girl, that one,” Raisho said. “Smart and pretty.” His grin split the night.
Giving up, Juhg blew out the candle. Darkness plunged into the room, filling the space held by the candle flame instantly. He took up the blanket Teeyar had left for him, then crawled onto the pallet on the floor.
For a time, he lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. His mind wouldn’t stop buzzing. Dozens or hundreds of code-breaking tactics screamed through his thoughts. None of them were new to him that night. He’d tried everything he could think of. The Grandmagister’s code was elaborate. How had the Grandmagister expected him to be able to decipher it?
Juhg didn’t remember going to sleep, but he knew he must have because he recognized the dream. Part of him knew that he lay still on the pallet in Sharz’s home, but he felt the gauzelike pull of the dream, like taffy stretching finally under its own weight. Having no strength to fight, he went with the dream that tugged him back into memory.
He and the Grandmagister rested, panting from their long run, in the Forest of Fangs and Shadows, only just come from the goblinkin mines that the Grandmagister had freed Juhg from after slipping his own chains. Traveling with Brandt had taught the Grandmagister the art of picking locks. The master thief made it a habit never to travel with lockpicks and other canny devices because a life of taking from others, especially those who could afford guards and clever traps, usually led to narrow escapes.
The Grandmagister had taken time to free the other dweller slaves in the tunnel he and Juhg had been assigned to. Most of the other dweller slaves had scattered in all directions, knowing the goblinkin followed with their fierce hunting lizards to sniff them from hiding.
The Grandmagister had coated Juhg in stinkweed so strongly that he could barely stand the smell of himself. With a few indigenous plants gathered along the way while they ran for their freedom and perhaps even
their lives, the Grandmagister had made up a healing salve that made the sores around Juhg’s wrists and ankles instantly feel better.
their lives, the Grandmagister had made up a healing salve that made the sores around Juhg’s wrists and ankles instantly feel better.
“How do you know so much?” Juhg had asked, feeling the cooling balm of the healing salve. He hadn’t really expected an answer and didn’t know much about the Grandmagister at the time. Back in the mines, though, the Grandmagister had been the only one who hadn’t seemed distraught and near to giving up all hope. Somehow the Grandmagister had quietly waited till an opportune moment for the escape.
Juhg still hadn’t known why he’d charged after the Grandmagister, other than the fact that the Grandmagister had been the only dweller who seemed to have a plan for getting away from the mines. And there was the fact that the Grandmagister had waited until he could free everyone in that tunnel instead of merely seeing to his own freedom.
“I know so much because I take the time to learn,” the Grandmagister had answered. “I make a conscious effort to look past my own needs of the moment and learn what I can of anything. You never know what you truly need in your life. I’ve found it’s often best to be prepared for anything you might envision.” He’d grinned a little then, but the fear never left his eyes. The goblinkin lizards had screamed in the distance, challenging the night and looking forward to the task their loutish masters had set them to. “After everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve done, I can imagine quite a lot.”
The dream had flashed forward then, moving ahead weeks after the escape from the mines. The Grandmagister had pursued the legend of an article that had turned out to be one of the forty-seven accounts of the Ruhrmish dwarves that had specialized in making iron boats along the Smoking Marshes to battle the goblinkin there for the iron mines. The account of their struggles had been hammered into a set of multifaceted iron balls that interlocked to give the whole story.
During the intervening time, Juhg had seen the Grandmagister drawing and writing in his journal. At first the Grandmagister had been reluctant about admitting what he was doing, pretending that he was an artist and nothing more. But Juhg hadn’t been fooled. There had been too much similarity between the marks on the pages that hadn’t been devoted to sketches. He’d recognized it as a pattern of some sort, and the shapes had called out to his naturally inquisitive mind.
When they had rested, Juhg had drawn some of the letters from memory on a bare patch of ground, not knowing what the letters were,
but knowing they were important. He’d sought understanding of the letters by taking them into himself, thinking that pushing the letters from his mind and through his own hand might offer further elucidation.
but knowing they were important. He’d sought understanding of the letters by taking them into himself, thinking that pushing the letters from his mind and through his own hand might offer further elucidation.
Upon seeing the letters drawn crudely on the ground, the Grandmagister had quickly shuffled his feet over them to obliterate them. A look of true fear had tightened his face. Juhg had felt at once humbled, knowing he was working with something truly beyond his ken.
“Don’t ever do that where someone can see you,” the Grandmagister had whispered hoarsely.
Juhg had felt ashamed. He had still been young in those days, hardly more than a child even after years spent in the goblinkin mines. The Grandmagister’s words of remonstration had scored him terribly.
After seeing the effect of his quick words, the Grandmagister had relented. Several hours later, he had revealed the truth to Juhg, stating that he was a First Level Librarian at the Vault of All Known Knowledge. Over the next few days, he had taught Juhg the letters of the language shared by most of the people, what he referred to as the common tongue, stating that many other diverse languages had existed before Lord Kharrion and the Cataclysm. The Grandmagister was conversant in most of them and was working to learn the others.
At first, Juhg had been afraid. Books and writing were to be avoided. Only wizards worked with that knowledge because they sought power they could control, and even they were plagued by goblinkin when they were discovered. All the dwellers knew that only bad things could happen if books and writing were involved. Thinking about a whole building full of books on an island somewhere out in a treacherous sea was unimaginable.
Then, a few days later, once he’d mastered all the alphabet, the Grandmagister had brought the journal to Juhg and shown him a brief line of writing. He’d patiently waited while Juhg had sounded the two words out, praising him for so quickly learning all that he had been taught, telling him that he’d never taught a grown dweller who had learned so fast before. The truth, of course, was that the Grandmagister had
never
taught a grown dweller before because on Greydawn Moors every dweller was taught to read as a child.
never
taught a grown dweller before because on Greydawn Moors every dweller was taught to read as a child.
Finally, after a torturous session, Juhg had sounded the two words out. “Dearest Juhg,” he read in a hesitant voice.
“Yes,” the Grandmagister had responded. “Dearest Juhg. That’s exactly
right. Now, whenever I write you a note, I will always address you as ‘Dearest Juhg.’”
right. Now, whenever I write you a note, I will always address you as ‘Dearest Juhg.’”
In the time since those dark and fear-filled days fleeing for their lives, the Grandmagister had always addressed personal notes to Juhg in such a manner.
When Juhg opened his eyes again, it was early morning. Pale pink sunlight poured into the room through the eastern window.
Teeyar was making corncakes on the griddle and the sweet smell of the thick batter filled the large room. Nyia and Jassamyn helped her prepare breakfast, giggling and playing as they squeezed barbtail plums for morning juice. Craugh was already up, talking in a quiet voice with Sharz. Cobner stood post at the windows, ever watchful. Only Raisho was missing, and Juhg knew from his past association with the young sailor that Raisho only roused early morn when there was food or work or adventuring to do.
Keeping himself wrapped in the blanket he’d slept with against the chill of morning, Juhg stumbled over to the work table and sat. He took the Grandmagister’s mysterious journal from his jacket pocket and opened it with fumbling hands. He knew he should have waited to wake up better before attempting the decoding, but he was too excited.
Now, whenever I write you a note, I will always address you as “Dearest Juhg.”
Uncapping his inkwell, Juhg took up a fresh quill. He didn’t question what he was doing, going with the instinct and with years of friendship with the Grandmagister.
Dearest Juhg
.
.
He started with that.
“Apprentice,” Craugh said softly.
Only then did Juhg realize the room had fallen silent in expectation. He hoped that he didn’t let anyone down. His heart leapt when he found the letters were there.
Craugh got up from his chair by the fire and crossed the room.
Even though he didn’t completely trust the wizard, Juhg didn’t try to hide his work from him. The note was only the key. Even with the incomprehensible message deciphered, Craugh could not figure out the content of the book. The Grandmagister had left that for him to do.
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