The Cup and the Crown (13 page)
Only now did Molly understand that he planned to stay all day. And no doubt he’d be back again tomorrow and the day after that, leaving her no time to find Tobias and work out a plan or to roam about Harrowsgode searching for a way to escape.
“Master Tutor,” she said, interrupting his flow of words, “I really don’t think I could learn anything at all today. I’ve been traveling for a long time and didn’t sleep well last night. I’m bone-tired, and my wits are like curdled cream. Maybe you could come back later—next week, perhaps.”
“I quite understand. But let me make an alternative proposal. Suppose we put off your studies for today and go on a little outing instead? There are many things in Harrowsgode that will amaze you, but there’s one particular sight that stands above the rest and is positively not to be missed: the Great Hall of Treasures. It’s not far from here, and we needn’t stay long—though once you get there and see it, you may want to.”
“What is it—the Great Hall of Treasures?”
“Exactly what the name implies: a beautiful building with priceless treasures on display. Anyone in Harrowsgode may go there. You don’t even have to pay.”
“What sort of treasures?”
“Every kind you can possibly imagine—and countless more you cannot. In my opinion, the library is the greatest treasure of all, but that will not interest you just yet. We’ll peek in so you can say you’ve seen it, then move on to the treasures.
“The library is in the center of the building and is very large. The treasure-house wraps around it on all four sides. There are rooms dedicated to paintings from all over the world, and one room filled with marble sculptures. There are works in silver and gold, artifacts from ancient times, new inventions, musical instruments, native costumes from distant lands, tapestries, and curiosities from every age and corner of the world. I promise you will be astonished.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Nor has anyone else who hasn’t been to Harrowsgode. What do you say? Would you like to go?”
As she stood gazing up at the building, Molly realized that she’d seen it before. It was when they’d just come out of the narrow canyon and were standing on the rim, looking down at Harrowsgode. It was the city’s most distinctive feature, so grand and imposing she’d thought at first it must be a cathedral, though it didn’t really look like one. Enormous at the base, it rose story by story, each level smaller than the one below: a sort of giant’s staircase capped by five domed towers.
Leading to the entrance was a broad staircase, which they now began to climb.
Dr. Larsson asked if she’d lend him her arm, as she was young and strong and he was old, with troublesome knees. He held it firmly, just as Alaric had, but the experience was altogether different. This was not the intimate thrill of touching the king of Westria; she felt a tingling in her arm rather like the sensation of clasping hands with Claus and Margit, only very much stronger. She didn’t think he’d done it on purpose, as her relatives had—but surely he must feel it. And if what Jakob had told her was true, he must even now be reading the secrets of her heart. Molly turned to look at him, but the only expression she saw on his face was the occasional wince at the pain from climbing the stairs.
“Going down is even worse,” he said as if reading her mind. “They really should build a ramp, maybe with some sort of pulley system to haul pathetic old fellows like me up and down the stairway.” He gave her a wan smile. “I think I’ll write a note to the Council suggesting it.”
At last they reached the landing and Dr. Larsson released her arm. They waited a moment while he caught his breath, then he gave her a quick little nod.
“Shall we go in?” he said.
Large buildings, in her experience, were usually dark. But the entrance to the Great Hall of Treasures was astonishingly bright. And looking up, she saw why. The stout walls that held up the enormous structure were straight ahead of her. The entry hall, and the corridors that extended beyond it on either side, wrapping all around the building, were simply an elaborate porch. Since nothing rested on top of it, the ceiling could safely hold countless skylights, as well as a string of small, angled windows placed where the wall met the ceiling on the outer side. She’d never seen anything like it. And all that glass—it must have cost an absolute fortune!
Dr. Larsson had gone to speak with one of the officials, who wrote something on a small slip of paper and handed it to him. Now he returned. “A pass for the library,” he explained. “We’ll just take a
very
quick look, I promise. But you cannot come here and miss the finest thing in all of Harrowsgode, perhaps even the world—the wisdom of every land, and every age, gathered in a single place.” He said this with such high emotion that Molly almost laughed.
“Just wait,” he said. “You’ll see.”
The library door was as stout as a castle gate and made of dark, gleaming wood, reinforced by masses of astonishing ironwork: cunningly wrought vines curling into spirals, sprouting leaves and delicate whorls touched up here and there with spots of gold.
A guard kept watch beside it. And even though he’d seen his fellow official write out their pass, he made Dr. Larsson show it anyway.
“There was a library like this in ancient times,” he said as the guard was pulling out his keys to unlock the door. “Nearly two thousand years ago. It had the finest collection of manuscripts in the world. The greatest minds of the age flocked there to give lectures, and read, and discuss what they had learned. It is said that carved upon the walls was an inscription: ‘This is the place that cures the soul.’”
The guard had the door open now and was waiting for them to walk through. Once they were inside, he shut and locked the door behind them. Molly was just wondering why they were so protective of a room full of books when anyone might walk in and look at the treasures—but then she looked around and understood.
The place was immense, supported by thousands of stone pillars, each as broad and high as the oldest tree that ever grew. Running along both sides of these rows of columns, as far as the eye could see, were bookshelves, so tall that ladders had been provided for reaching the upper shelves.
This was no dreary tomb of dusty books. It was alive, like a hive of bees, humming with the soft voices and quiet footsteps of scholars. They sat at tables, books laid out before them, talking with one another. They wandered through the stacks and climbed the ladders.
Against her will, Molly felt the tremendous power of the place: all the knowledge of the world collected in that very room, and all those scholars scurrying about, drinking the knowledge in as bees suck nectar.
The place that cures the soul.
“I want to show you something of special interest,” Dr. Larsson said, guiding her past more shelves holding an inconceivable number of books until they finally reached the heart of the library. Here was a great stone box, a room within the room, its marble-clad walls rising to the ceiling on all four sides. High above the level of their heads the box had barred, unglazed windows, probably to let in light and air.
“This is the sanctum sanctorum,” he said, showing his slip of paper to the guard at the door, who was not so fastidious as the first one had been. He merely glanced at the pass before fishing out his key. Once he’d unlocked the door, though, he followed them inside and was joined a moment later by a second guard.
“What do you keep in here?” she asked. “The crown jewels?”
“Oh, dear, no. Those are on display in the Hall of Treasures. The documents in
here
”—he indicated the rows of locked cabinets—“are of
much
higher value. They’re truly priceless, irreplaceable, the rarest of the rare.” Then, to the first guard, “The Pinakes of Callimachus, please.”
The man unlocked one of the cabinets—there were no open shelves here—and took out a scroll. He handed it to Dr. Larsson, who carried it to a small, round table where light-stones were already glowing. He unfurled it for Molly to see.
“This is a copy. The original is also here in this room, but we never handle it. Old papyrus scrolls are extremely delicate.”
Molly nodded.
“Remember the famous library I was just telling you about? Well, this is a list of all the books it contained. If you were an ancient scholar and you wanted to read a certain work by a particular author, you could look it up on the list to see where it was kept. It’s an extraordinary document, the very first of its kind.”
“What happened to it?” Molly asked, staring down at the tiny writing, the unfamiliar letters. “The library, I mean. Is it still there?”
Dr. Larsson straightened, allowing the scroll to wind itself up again, and said with a strange, fierce dignity, “There was a war. It burned. Everything was destroyed.”
“Oh,” she said. “That’s very sad.”
“‘Sad’ is too small a word to describe such a terrible loss.”
“But why didn’t this burn up?” She pointed to the scroll on the table.
“The Pinakes was in constant use. There were many copies, widely distributed. A few of them survived.”
He returned the scroll to the cabinet, then nodded to the guard, who nodded back. She thought they were about to leave. But the guard, having finished locking the cabinet, now crossed the little room and opened yet another door. She hadn’t noticed it till now since it was small and matched the cabinets around it. A quick glance told her that the space in which they stood wasn’t square. On the other side of that wall there must be yet
another
room, holding the rarest treasures of them all. She looked up at her tutor, brows raised in question.
“You shall see,” he said, ushering her through the door.
It opened—how unexpected!—onto a spiral staircase.
She heard the turn of a lock and looked behind her. Both guards had entered and were standing with their backs to the door.
“You will forgive me one day,” Dr. Larsson said. “I’m sorry. But we can no more afford to lose you than we could these precious scrolls.”
“I don’t understand.” She looked up the stairway lit from above by a warm golden light. “What
is
this place?”
“Why, didn’t you know? It’s Harrowsgode Hall.”
RICHARD LEANED HIS RAT-STAFF
against the wall and took off his official cloak. “Bad news, I’m afraid,” he said. “The barrister’s been arrested.”
Tobias groaned. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? Because he let me into the city.”
“Master Pieter made his own decision. It wasn’t your idea. And before you fall all over yourself with remorse, consider the spot he’s put you in. He’ll spend a couple of months in prison till the Council gets over its annoyance, but they won’t spill a drop of his precious blood. He’s one of their own, and from the highest class. You, on the other hand . . .”
“I know, Richard. You’ve made that point already, and there’s nothing wrong with my memory.”
“Then you understand that we can’t just have you sitting here waiting for the Watch to pick you up. We need a plan, and we need it bloody quick.”
“I was already thinking along those lines while you were away.”
“Oh? And did you come up with anything?”
“Not exactly. But let me ask you this—as a foreigner living in Neargate, are you permitted to send personal letters to people in the town? By messenger, I mean.”
“Yes. Messengers come and go from here all the time. It’s how my clients contact me and how I set up meetings.”
“Could you send one to the home of Claus Magnusson, even though we don’t know his address?”
“The messenger would know where to take it. But can your lady read?”
“No, but she could get someone to read it to her, someone she trusts.”
“Well, I don’t much like it; I’ll be honest with you, Tobias. There are lots of things that could go wrong. But let’s just say for the sake of argument that we did compose such a letter. What would be the gist of it?”
“That she’s in danger. That she won’t be allowed to leave. That she should forget about the cup and escape if she can. That Master Pieter has been arrested. I’m not sure I should tell her the other bit . . .”
“About the Council probably wanting you dead?”
“It would only upset her.”
“It might, yes.”
“Then I’d set up a meeting somewhere dark and quiet, and hide there till she comes. Molly’s clever. She’ll manage to get out of the house. Then we can work out a plan together.”
Richard grinned. “It’s a beginning. And as it happens, I know a score of dark and quiet places.”
Tobias gave him a questioning look.
“That’s where the rats live.”
It was perfect flying weather.
He floated effortlessly in the sky, held aloft by a cushion of warm air rising from the cobbles and slate on the streets and rooftops below. He had no need to beat his wings—just a delicate movement of the feathers now and then, that’s all that was required, and slight adjustments to the angle of his widespread tail.
He hadn’t chosen this body any more than a human child decides whether it will be born in a cottage or a castle. He might have stayed as he was—a disembodied spirit—after the spell was broken and his obligations were fulfilled. But he’d formed deep attachments during that time, and even a spirit hungers for love. So he’d willed himself another life, and his wish had been granted.
He’d laughed—well, actually he’d gone
kraaaaa
—when he saw what he’d become. How darkly amusing! Weren’t ravens said to be the ghosts of murdered people or the souls of the damned?
It had taken some getting used to. His raven-body craved the most disgusting things: dead mice, maggots, beetles. But his vision was sharp and his hearing keen; and best of all, he could fly. He could go wherever he wanted, the world spread out below him—what a blessing after the life of seclusion he’d endured for so many years!