The God Tattoo: Untold Tales from the Twilight Reign (33 page)

The night watchman smiled and shook his straggly white hair. ‘No, Mistress, a nice warm pie tonight.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she said brightly. ‘Come on Pirn, it’s cold out here!’

‘Aye, Mistress,’ the retainer said with a suspicious look. ‘Good night Master Bewen.’

Gennay marched across the frosty courtyard as quickly as the ice and snow would permit. At the gate she glanced back to where Bewen stood watching them. He saw her looking and ducked his head,
closing the door with a thump.

‘All still fine, Mistress?’ Pirn asked as he moved ahead of her, through the gate.

She followed him and looked at the near-empty street suspiciously. Off to the right she saw a figure at the far end, half in the shadow of a doorway and conspicuously still.

‘Who’s that?’ she mused.

Pirn took a step forward and squinted, but she realised his eyes wouldn’t be good enough to make much out in the dark.

‘I don’t know. Should I fetch a watchman?’

‘Because he’s standing out in the cold? They might want a little more reason than that. Foolishness is not a crime, despite my brother’s opinion on the subject.’

Gennay squinted at the figure, trying to make anything out. She could tell from the clothes and stance that it was a man, perhaps broader than average with a tradesman’s coat and hair that
was either fair or greying. While this was a better part of the city, the man’s clothing wasn’t so out of place, but he did appear to be staring directly at them which was unusual.

‘Doubt he’s a thief,’ Pirn said eventually. ‘They’ll not hang around so long once noticed.’

Gennay nodded and on cue the man turned and disappeared around the house he’d been standing by. ‘Well, he’s gone now.’ She pulled her hood low over her face and brushed a
flake of snow from its brim. ‘Time we did so too.’

‘Aye, Mistress, but keep an eye out for him again, mind.’

She nodded and stamped her feet, feeling the cold more deeply than ever. ‘I will, now move yourself, that mention of a pie has made me hungry!’

Arms wrapped around her body, Gennay hurried down the dim corridor of the guildsmen offices towards the warmer main hall. It was dark and cold here, and near-silent with only
three men working in one small office. They had a fire lit there, but the scribes jealously guarded its warmth and resented every second the door was open.

Here in the corridor it was as cold as the street outside, Gennay guessed; bare stone was ever cold and the ceiling high enough to draw all warmth away. Her head felt heavy and fogged, as though
she’d been at her father’s brandy, but she knew it was just a combination of the cold and sleeplessness.

From nowhere a grey shape appeared beside her. Gennay yelped and reeled away, crashing into a door on the other side of the corridor and falling through it as it yielded to her weight. The
faceless spectre hissed and raised its billowing grey arms towards her, lurching forward as Gennay scrabbled on the floor of the empty room.

She screamed and kicked wildly, trying to flee but her boots found no purchase on the musty rush-strewn floor. At last her heel caught something and she pushed with all her strength, slamming
the door on the creature as she drove herself back and half-upright.

The phantom shrieked and Gennay screamed again, fighting her way to her feet. She heard running footsteps in the corridor, but couldn’t bring herself to move anywhere but back until her
shoulders were against the barred shutters of the office window. There she stood, trembling in the darkness, until the door opened again. Her hand was on her knife-handle by the time she recognised
who it was; Sarras, the chief scribe. He peered fearfully around the door, not seeing Gennay for a moment but when he did the man gasped and opened the door fully.

‘Mistress Gennay? Are you hurt?’ Sarras asked as he advanced towards her, but Gennay didn’t hear him as she saw a grey figure on the ground behind the man.

Her mouth fell open as the figure moved. It wasn’t a ghost at all but a young man, one of the scribes in her employ.

‘Oh Gods,’ Gennay gasped as Miriss sat up, one hand holding his shoulder. ‘It was just Miriss.’

‘What happened?’ Sarras gave Miriss a puzzled look, clearly unsure who was the injured party.

‘He startled me; I just saw a grey shape appear, thought . . .’

Sarras reached out a tentative hand for Gennay to take and she did so gladly. ‘He tried to grab you?’

‘No, just appeared suddenly in his robe.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘It’s a novice robe from the Temple of Death, isn’t it? Fate’s eyes, I hadn’t
realised he’d even taken a novice vow.’

‘Yes, all orphans they take in become novices,’ Sarras said, still too confused to join her laughter. ‘He was wearing it against the cold.’

‘I didn’t, I didn’t know . . . Is he okay? Miriss, I’m sorry, you startled me.’

The scribe was only a winter or two younger than Gennay, but smaller than she and thin too. The door slamming onto his shoulder had knocked him flying and she could see from his face he was
still too dazed to hear her.

As her heart calmed and her wits returned fully, Gennay realised his face was contorted by pain. One of the other scribes touched his right arm and the young man gasped and recoiled. The
shoulder itself looked strange and lumped.

‘Oh no, it looks dislocated.’ She advanced a step and the supine scribe’s eyes widened with fear.

‘Sarras, quickly – take him to the bonesetter near the old baths, tell them to send the bill to my father.’

The scribe nodded and helped Miriss to his feet while Gennay watched anxiously from a distance. It took both Sarras and the other scribe to help Miriss to the door and down the stairs to the
main entrance. She followed them, cursing herself under her breath and ignoring the curious faces from the team of carpenters at work in the main hall. Sarras wasted no time in getting Miriss out
the door and across the treacherous courtyard, the three men walking together like some fantastical beast.

Gennay followed them out and stood in the courtyard, realising her hands were still trembling. The shock had only intensified the ache behind her eyes and for a moment her eyes blurred until she
screwed them up tightly and leaned back against the library’s stone wall.

‘I’m losing my mind,’ she muttered, her moment of nervous laughter gone entirely.

The previous night she’d managed only an hour’s sleep at most and when she’d arrived at the library it looked as though Master Bewen had done worse than she. When she’d
questioned him about it, the night watchman had been evasive and uncomfortable – clearly keen to get away from the building despite his protests that the night had been entirely
uneventful.

The sun was going down now. She could see the sky darkening and had found herself over the course of the day dreading nightfall. What little sleep she’d managed last night had been a
collection of jumbled, disjointed dreams, ones that had reminded her of Bewen’s own.

She’d been walking through the library’s corridors just as she had when Miriss surprised her with the hood of his robe down low – except in her dreams they were strangely
unfamiliar and threatening. The shadows had lain thick on the ground, sometimes obscuring walls or blocking her path. She’d been forced to turn down corridors that did not exist in the real
library, but were interminable in her dreams.

All the time, Gennay had sensed someone watching her, or something. She heard footsteps echo through the courtyard, but when she opened a set of shutters she saw no one there. In an empty room
she had sensed a constant presence, always just behind her shoulder, out of sight but as close as her own shadow.

After a moment of recollection, Gennay was chased back inside by the cold evening air. Not so biting as the previous day, it was still too chilly outside to be there with only a shawl around
her. Back inside, she saw the workmen packing up for the day, also eager to be home before the pale daylight vanished. She ignored their anxious looks as she headed up the stairs, but at the top
she realised they were all facing her way. She curtly bade them a good evening and headed for her desk, the look on her face enough to see them out as soon as they’d dropped tools and found
their coats.

Within a minute, Gennay was alone, sat at her desk with her head in her hands. As she stared at the page below she found the words squirming under her gaze and the throb in her head increased
until she closed her eyes again.

‘Oh I’m so tired. I’m tired and stupid,’ she muttered, vainly massaging at her temple.

She sighed and stopped, tentatively opening her eyes as though afraid of what she might see. There was nothing there, just a mess on her desk and the cold empty library all around her. The one
lit lamp in the room was on her desk and the rest of the hall was becoming increasingly gloomy.

As she sat there, she felt the shadows intensify and grow threatening. A sudden sense of panic blossomed in her stomach. She glanced around and saw there were no looming grey figures now, just a
disquieting emptiness, but that failed to help her spirits.

‘Right, I’ll go home before the light’s gone,’ she declared with flimsy resolve. ‘I don’t want to be here after dark and clearly I’ll get nothing
achieved in this frame of mind.’

She covered the fire and carried her lamp downstairs – moving with exaggerated briskness to make as much noise as possible, suddenly afraid she’d hear the rustling of pages again
before she left. She collected her coat and extinguished the lamp, sparing a last glance for the twilit library. Nothing stirred.

‘Master Bewen can check the library tonight; I’ll send him back with the key.’

With that she left and locked the door behind her, hurrying across the courtyard until she was in the street and not so completely alone.

‘Dangerous streets, these,’ said a voice behind her. ‘You might want to be careful as you go.’

Gennay jumped, her hand going to her mouth to cover a scream as she whirled around. There was a man behind her, stocky with greying hair and a commoner’s clothes. She took a step back
– it was hard to tell, but he looked like the man who’d been watching her in the street the previous day.

He was older than her; a few winters older than Pirn, Gennay guessed, with as many signs of a hard life etched into his face. His grey hair was not quite unkempt but, as with his clothes, some
attention to it wouldn’t have gone astray.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ she asked, taking another step. He didn’t attempt to make up the ground but stood beside the wall, a mocking smile on his grubby face.

‘Well, you’re out here now. That makes it dangerous to my mind.’

‘This street’s well patrolled by the Watch. If I scream they’ll come running soon enough.’

The man just smiled in a vaguely patronising way, reminiscent of Gennay’s brother in that it made her immediately want to slap him. ‘I ain’t the one who just popped a
man’s shoulder out.’

‘What? How do you know about that?’

‘I passed your gaggle of scribes, put it back in for ’im. I’ve seen it done a few times in the past, the longer you leave it the harder it is to get it back in. Good thing
he’s a scrawny little bugger that boy, not much muscle to get in the way.’

‘And they told you I did it?’

‘Well, said he’d fallen badly after you startled him. Sounded odd, but I ain’t the sort o’ man to rule out the curious.’

Gennay put her hand in her pocket, just in case. ‘And what sort of man waits to address his betters in the street after performing such a service?’

‘One who wanted to talk to you anyway.’

He pushed off from the wall and took a step forward. She couldn’t see a weapon on the man, but his coat was easily long enough to hide a dagger or short-sword and there was something in
the gleam of his eye that made her feel even more vulnerable than she had in the library.

‘Well, I must leave, and I suggest you don’t follow me – my father’s steward will be meeting me and he doesn’t take kindly to your type.’

‘Few men do,’ the stranger agreed with a grin, ‘but that’s life for you. I’d appreciate it if you did spare me a little time however, Mistress Thonal.’

She froze. ‘You know my name?’

‘Aye, there’s a lot of talk about this library you’re building – learning for the common man and such.’

‘You wish to be educated?’

The man chuckled at that and shook his head. ‘I’ve got my letters and a whole lot more learning besides, but I’ve given up hoping I’ll ever appear educated. No, it was
the library I was interested in, was hoping I might find some information in these books of yours.’

‘The library is not open to the public, the collection is barely starting to be assembled. The valuable works have not even been delivered, if that’s what you’re looking
for.’

‘So quick to judge,’ he sighed. ‘I’m not looking to steal, just to learn some odd bits of history, and about the Knights of the Temples. Someone said you were getting
copies of their libraries.’

‘Then come back in the morning,’ Gennay snapped, making to move away. He stepped towards her, not quite barring her path but making it clear he could if he wished.

‘I’m more of a man of the shadows myself, was hoping I could borrow your key and look at a few works before the steward and watchman arrived to lock up for the night.’

Gennay shivered. ‘Even if I was willing to let you, I doubt you’d find the shadows in the library to your liking.’

‘Eh?’ He frowned. ‘Not to my liking? There something wrong with the shadows in there?’

‘What? No, it’s just . . .’ She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing, just an idle comment from someone who’s not slept as much as they need to. Sir, I don’t
know who you are, but I cannot allow you access to the library, not until it is officially opened and certainly not unattended.’

He regarded her without speaking, as though trying to puzzle something out. Before the stranger could say anything more however, a voice came from down the street and they both turned.

‘Gennay!’ called a young man, hurrying forward through the snow. He wore a long cloak but as he closed the man flicked it aside to make clear to the stranger he was carrying a
sword.