Page 22 of Aubade Rising
Satisfied with my response, Eskar smiles. “I’d like that.”
Chapter 20
We make an unusual collective, the three of us waiting outside the hallowed library entrance on the top floor of Pentargon Academy. Howl and Haelyn are about to combust with anticipation, fidgeting and fizzing incessantly.Neither have met before but I’m amused at their similar excitement at securing access to one of the most secretive parts of Mordros society.
The entrance chamber reminds me of a greenhouse: claustrophobic glass walls enclose us on three sides within a wrought iron frame. The glass amplifies the sunshine and it feels like summer on my skin, but without a breeze it’s already stifling. It’s early in the morning but the intensity of the reflection makes it feel like midday. This room would be insufferable in the warmer seasons.
Eskar escorted us to the library this morning but wasn’t able to stay. As soon as he left, Haelyn tried to question me about his friendly behaviour. I had been aware of her silently watching the two of us laugh as he offered me a sweet from his pocket once we reached the city quay, trying to prevent a recurrence of my loud stomach gurgling. I didn’t mind his teasing at all but I’m not ready to admit that to her yet.
Thankfully, Howl appears before I have to explain what happened in the laboratory last week. How we spent the entire day together and didn’t argue once. Or how he asked about my research and I promised to tell him when I succeed. That’s more than I have committed to with her and I worry that her patience is wearing thin with my refusal to talk about what I’m really working on.
We stand, clustered in the atrium, waiting for our appointment.As the clock passes the hour, a rhythmic tapping comes from behind the doors leading to the library, demanding our attention. An imposing silhouette of a tall, slender person wielding a cane appears through the frosted glass and the tapping stops. Silently, the handle turns and the door opens, without a single scrape or creak against the polished floor.
Whatever we were expecting from the Head Librarian of Pentargon, it was most certainly not a gorgeously handsome man in his early thirties with wild, long, curly hair. Haelyn and I are struck mute. Her eyes widen and she bites her bottom lip. Howl is the first of us to react, reaching forward to shake the librarian’s hand.
“Sage Dewnam and party, I presume?” His voice is soft like honey and with a faint accent I can’t place. “I’m Penn Pyst, Head Librarian of Pentargon Library.”
I shake his hand and introduce our group. When I mention Haelyn, a predatory smile creeps into his face and he takes his time surveying her, shrewdly assessing a rival.
Not one to be easily intimidated, Haelyn doesn’t baulk. Howl coughs loudly and his awkward interruption breaks their impasse. I have a suspicion that otherwise the two of them would still be glaring at each other.
Regaining his composure and flashing me an apologetic smile, Penn gestures for us to enter the library in front of him.
A library is heavy with knowledge, the air inside thick and oppressive and this one is no exception. In our group, I am the odd one out. Everyone else is completely at ease and they delve confidently into the book stacks ahead. I linger, loath to leave the warm air of the atrium.
Penn taps his cane in front of Haelyn and Howl if they venture from his planned route, corralling them like sheep. Mutely, I follow, noting how the light shines through to the polished floor without a fleck of dust in the air. This library is not one wherebooks are regularly used; it’s small and contains the rarest of texts and is more of a museum than a place of learning.
Three ancient tomes are laid out in a glass display case towards the back of the library, their pages crumbling. Penn pulls out several sets of cotton gloves, examining them for lint before passing them round. He watches intently as we pull them on. I don’t doubt that he will refuse us access if we don’t.
“Given the opaque nature of your request, I had to use some initiative about where to start. But I think you will find these… insightful.”I can’t make out his tone – whether he cares or not that I’ve been vague about the real purpose behind my research. I need Dervla to return from her business trip soon. There are too many people skirting too close to the truth and I worry we’re going to be exposed. I trust her to handle it, I’m in over my head.
Howl looks to me for approval, rocking back on his heels before darting forward to take the first look. I watch carefully – noting his reactions as he skims the three texts, leaning closer to each one – joining him at the case. Several times my pulse soars when I hear him take a deep rush of air but then, as quickly as my excitement rises, it falls again when he shakes his head and continues reading.
Haelyn is interrogating Penn in the background. “Was it necessary to decline my previous requests in quite such an abrasive manner?” Her voice is tart and not one I’m accustomed to hearing.
“Previous requests?” Penn’s response is bland, unphased by her indignation.
“Yes, all eight of them.”
“Apologies, it’s nothing personal. We receive hundreds of requests from across Trevesiga.”
“From a member of the King’s Concord?”The shelves closest to us creak and I notice a cold breeze on the back of my neck. Now she’s really vexed.
“From people looking for knowledge, a position at court means little here.”
“But a family name means something, clearly,” she hisses quietly, bitterness leaching into her tone. I turn to see her point to Howl’s back and he flinches, as if the tip of her finger pierced the nape of his neck. His hands tense and his cheeks go pink.
“Perhaps he was simply better at following instructions. The required paperwork is quite demanding. Many struggle with it.” Penn’s tone, previously unruffled and remote turns acerbic.
“Haelyn, I submitted the paperwork. Howl had nothing to do with it,” I caution her, irritated at the insinuation and not wanting to anger the one person who could halt my research by denying us access again.
She fixes me with a pointed glare, brown eyes storming. I don’t back down until the breeze ruffling my hair ceases. Rolling her eyes, she resumes her silence, glaring at the stacks around her and refusing to acknowledge anyone else’s presence.
“Thank you,” Howl whispers under his breath as he resumes scanning the texts and I press an encouraging hand on his shoulder.
I move closer to take in the final text but promptly give up: it’s in ancient Mordrish. Seeing my frustration and disinterest, Penn steps forward.
“Perhaps I could be of further assistance if I had more details on what you are searching for?”
