Lord of the Libraries (20 page)
“Do you have it then?” Craugh asked.
“I believe so,” Juhg said. He looked up at Jassamyn, who held Nyia on one of her hips and gazed at him with congratulatory amusement. “You were right, Jassamyn.”
“I was?” The elven maid raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“You were. The Grandmagister left this message entirely for me.” Juhg’s wits and his quill gained speed. “On the surface, the message appears complete, but it is a hidden message.”
“A clue?” Craugh asked. His interest grew. Wizards were curious people, almost as curious as dwellers.
“A clue made up of all its parts.” Juhg wrote
Dearest Juhg
on a clean piece of paper under
Rest your head, go jump after.
Dearest Juhg
on a clean piece of paper under
Rest your head, go jump after.
“‘Dearest Juhg,’
” Craugh read aloud.
” Craugh read aloud.
“The Grandmagister always addressed me that way in any personal correspondence,” Juhg said. “When it came to Library business, he addressed me by my title. First or Second or Third Librarian. Even Novice, but generally the notes at that level were always personal.”
Working swiftly and carefully, Juhg marked through the letters in the mysterious message that made up the personal address.
Rest your head, go jump after.
That used up all the letters that made up
Dearest Juhg
. Being right about that much left him feeling hopeful, but those hopes were quickly dashed.
Dearest Juhg
. Being right about that much left him feeling hopeful, but those hopes were quickly dashed.
He was left with the letters RYOOUMPAFTER. He stared at them, but none of them made any sense. Frustration began creeping back in at him. He still didn’t know what to do or what the message was supposed to be. He still had the word
after
, but that couldn’t be what it was supposed to be, could it?
after
, but that couldn’t be what it was supposed to be, could it?
“What’s wrong?” Craugh asked.
Juhg sighed. “I’m stumped.”
“Nonsense. I think you’re on to something, apprentice,” the wizard stated. “You’ve made a good start and cut nearly half the letters.”
After a long moment of staring at them, Juhg shook his head. “What is left makes no sense, Craugh.” His mind ached with the impossibility he faced. “I’m just not as clever as the Grandmagister thought.”
“No!” Craugh’s voice swelled to feel the small room. Nyia darted in close to Jassamyn, hugging her tightly.
Fearful, Juhg looked into the wizard’s hard green eyes. Emerald sparks swirled around the head of his staff. For a moment Juhg felt certain he’d hit the floor on webbed feet and covered with warts before his next heartbeat.
“Don’t you dare underestimate your master, apprentice,” Craugh thundered. “Not even by thinking that Wick somehow overestimated you. If anything, he underestimated your abilities and your vision.”
“But I don’t understand,” Juhg whispered. He hadn’t intended to whisper, but facing the wizard’s wrath seemed to turn his throat to dry stone.
“You must.” Craugh looked deeply into his eyes. “Wick would not have set this task before you if he had not thought you could accomplish it. Nor would he have allowed himself to be taken captive by Aldhran Khempus. Sacrifice doesn’t come easily to a dweller. It’s not supposed to.” Craugh smiled, but the effort was coldly cruel. “But cleverness? Now there’s something that a dweller embraces completely. Wick believed he was being clever in everything that he did. I’m convinced that some bit of cleverness is at the heart of everything we’re doing here.”
Juhg looked back at the incomprehensible line of letters. He was truly afraid that if he failed he would live out the rest of his life as a toad.
“Apprentice,” Craugh said in a softer tone, “your master has put something before you—a task—that he fully believed you could perform. With the stakes that are against us, I know it’s no easy task, but it can be done. You’ve come this far.”
“Don’t you see, Craugh? Even this can be wrong.” At that moment, Juhg felt certain that the guess he’d made was wrong. It couldn’t be right. Not if he was left with the letters that mocked him on the page.
Gracefully, the wizard sat across from Juhg. He maintained a steadfast gaze. “This isn’t beyond your reach. Think about the letters that are left. Wick would have wanted to leave you a message that you would understand.”
“I see the word
after
, but that is no help.”
after
, but that is no help.”
“That’s a false word. The true meaning is still disguised. Look through that facade.”
Juhg looked at the letters. Hot tears burned at the back of his eyes.
Why had the Grandmagister left such a message?
“The Grandmagister can’t have known that I would even be alive at this point.”
Why had the Grandmagister left such a message?
“The Grandmagister can’t have known that I would even be alive at this point.”
“He couldn’t have thought you would be dead, apprentice,” Craugh said softly. “He would never allow himself to think anything like that.” The wizard tapped the paper. “This was prepared in the event of his death. He faced implacable enemies and he knew that.”
He might even be dead now
. Juhg didn’t want that thought to enter his head, but now that it did, he couldn’t get past it.
. Juhg didn’t want that thought to enter his head, but now that it did, he couldn’t get past it.
“Wick would have named something in there,” Craugh went on. “Something that would have carried volumes of meaning for you. A reference to something else that you both would have known.”
Juhg stared at the letters but nothing came.
“What about the word
book?”
Craugh asked. “Is it in there?”
book?”
Craugh asked. “Is it in there?”
“There is no
b
, no
k
,” Juhg replied.
b
, no
k
,” Juhg replied.
“Perhaps another language that spells book.”
Juhg turned the letters around in his mind, sifting through the dozens of written languages he knew. Nothing. Nothing. Nothingnothingnothing
nothing!
nothing!
“No. It’s not there,” he said.
“Another word then,” Craugh persisted. “If not a book, then a tale, perhaps. A story. A monograph. A diatribe.”
“Not in another language,” Jassamyn said. “Wick is clever, but he liked to keep things simple. The more simple the bit of cleverness, the stronger the impact when the trick was revealed.” She approached the work table. “He wouldn’t have changed languages. But I think Craugh is correct, Juhg. I think you’re looking for a body of work, perhaps an author’s name, that would make a connection for you.”
Frenzied now, feeling that he was near to bursting, Juhg studied the letters, moving them around in his mind, seeking words. By the Old Ones, he’d never really paid attention to how many words were his to lay claim to—even when he limited himself just to the common tongue. Then he saw it, and he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t seen it before.
He marked through the letters.
R
Feeling more inspired, he wrote the new word down.
Poem
.
Poem
.
“A poem?” Craugh asked.
“Yes,” Juhg said. “It has to be. You were right, Craugh. And Jassamyn
must be right as well. The Grandmagister had to have left the name of a poem that I would remember.”
must be right as well. The Grandmagister had to have left the name of a poem that I would remember.”
“How many poems do you know?” the wizard asked.
“Thousands,” Juhg answered. “And bits and pieces of thousands more.”
“Then it’ll be like searching for a grain of sand on an ocean beach,” Cobnor grumbled. “No telling how long that will take.”
“No,” Craugh said. “Don’t think that the task is impossible or even near to it. The poem Wick will have left will have double meaning, apprentice. It will serve as both the key to the coded journal and to some special occurrence between the two of you. What poem did you have in common?”
“Several,” Juhg answered, trying not to give in to the knot of apprehension swelling within his belly. “Many of them are mnemonics designed to remember tables and charts and bodies of work.”
“Then it won’t be that,” Craugh said. “Something simpler.”
Suddenly, the letters moved in Juhg’s mind though they didn’t move on the page. The answer was suddenly clear as Sambaanian crystal, and it was as simple as Craugh had suggested. The quill in his hand moved almost of its own volition.
Juhg leaned back in his chair, trembling with relief.
“Fort Yuar?” Craugh read. The dark scowl on his face made it clear that he didn’t understand the reference.
“‘Fort Yuar’ is a dwarvish poem.” Cobner grimaced. “Though you’ll find no true-blooded dwarf that will term it so. What it actually is, it’s a war song of the Ruhrmash dwarves of the Smoking Marshes.” After being introduced to the Grandmagister and all the knowledge that the Grandmagister had known, the warrior had become something of a romantic when it came to dwarven histories. “They built iron ships and fought the goblinkin of the Smoking Marshes for the iron mines they needed to survive. They won, too. Until Lord Kharrion rose up and triggered the Cataclysm. I’ve been through there with the Grandmagister, and a few times
later on my own. Those iron ships still sit at the bottom of the marshes. Few know about them.”
later on my own. Those iron ships still sit at the bottom of the marshes. Few know about them.”
“Why is that poem important?” Craugh asked.
Juhg smiled. “It was the first piece that the Grandmagister taught me. We were running from goblinkin after he freed me from the mines. I had caught him at his journal and he had given in and told me what he really was, and told me all about Greydawn Moors. When we came upon the Smoking Marshes, I was bitten by a thorn adder.” Memory filled his head and he relived those days for a moment. “I thought I was going to die. I begged the Grandmagister to leave me because the goblinkin were all around us. I knew if they found us they would kill me out of hand rather than try to nurse me back to health, and the Grandmagister would be hauled back to the mines where he would not find a second escape so easily.”
“But he didn’t do that, did he?” Jassamyn asked, smiling.
“No.”
“It’s not in Wick’s nature to desert a friend.”
“Sometimes,” Craugh said, “I think that the better part of a dweller’s survival skills missed him.”
“He’s a warrior at heart, he is,” Cobner affirmed. “I taught him everything he knows.”
“I lay near to death,” Juhg said, “burning up with fever, and the Grandmagister promised me he would teach me to write if I would follow him home to Greydawn Moors.” He swallowed hard at the memory. “I had no home of my own. I don’t know what would have happened to me if he hadn’t taken me in.”
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