The Prophecy Con (Rogues of the Republic) (9 page)

Kail and Tern blinked. The dwarf chuckled.

“Well, now, I’m nae too certain those thieves would fare quite so well as ye expect, Representative,” the dwarf said, looking around the room and shaking his head.

“Yes, the motion triggers, the door locks, the perimeter containment system as well, all breachable given intruders prepared with coherent penetration strategy . . .” The elf wrung his hands again. “I am sorry. What I intend to communicate is that it does not matter. By storing the manuscript in this manner, you will alter it. It is unique. It is . . . the difference between
a
shirt and, and, and
this
shirt.” He reached out and grabbed Kail’s sleeve, pulling it up toward the dwarf sharply. “Changing it in such a way will alter the experience of reading it, which risks losing its message, like hanging a painting on a wall that faces the sun!”

“Representative Irrethelathlialann,” the dwarf said politely but firmly, “I dinnae think it’s appropriate to bother the other visitors.”

“But they must already be bothered.” The elf let go of Kail and crouched down on the floor. “Look at it. Can you feel it?”

Tern blinked. “Um. No?”

The elf waved his hand just above the ground, brushing the hem of her brown crafter’s dress. “Pressure plates. Sound amplification from bound water-daemon. Out of view to avoid bothering dwarven sensibilities, but to those attuned, it is a constant blaring horn. Even when disabled during operating hours, they alter the room.” He stood up so quickly that Tern jumped and faced the dwarf. “It
cannot
be altered, Enforcer Utt’Krenner.”

“Please, Representative, call me Gart,” said the dwarf, “and we can take these concerns to the curators, as I said.” The dwarf turned to Loch, Kail, and Tern. “My apologies for this display. ‘Tis the intention of the museum to be a welcoming and wholesome environment for all our guests.”

“Not at all.” Loch smiled at the dwarf, and then at the elf. “It’s important to view different cultures in their proper context.”

“Yes. Yes!” The elf smiled back. “Understanding rare among humans, simplistic sensory capabilities render discussions of finer appreciation academic in most instances, but Urujar
remember
more. Irrethelathlialann,” he said, and took Loch’s hand with a grip that was surprisingly strong. His other hand clasped her wrist, and he bowed slightly. “Appreciate this acquaintance.”

“Loch.” She shook his hand, and that seemed to be enough for the elf. He broke away and strode from the room, fluttering his hands in annoyance at the walls and doorway as he left.

“My apologies again,” said the dwarf, adjusting his ringmail with some minor discomfort as he looked after the elf. “I regret this disruption of the viewing experience.” He reached into his belt and came up with a small slip of paper. “By way of apology, allow me to offer a complimentary meal in our attached restaurant, and a discount on any items purchased from the gift shop.”

“That’s hardly necessary,” Loch said.

“But we appreciate it anyway,” Kail said quickly, taking the card.

“And we’ll make sure to mention how welcoming the museum was, Enforcer Utt’Krenner,” Tern said, “and how well the staff dealt with this unfortunate but blameless situation.”

The dwarf smiled. His big red beard was carefully groomed to fall into seven equally spaced tongues, like a fire burning upside down, and over his mouth, his mustache curled up on either side like the gilding on a wrought-iron fence. “Please enjoy the remainder of yer visit,” he said, and strode off after the elf.

Kail, Tern, and Loch looked at the elven manuscript standing under the glass.

“Pressure plates.” Tern shifted her weight back and forth.

“Sound amplifiers.” Kail tapped his boot on the floor. “Through a water-daemon, apparently.”

“Motion triggers and door locks.” Loch nodded thoughtfully. “Tern, the crystal in the display case? You can melt through?”

Tern frowned. “I’ll need to run some tests, but yes, I think so.”

“Then thanks to our very excited elven friend,” said Loch, “we have the beginnings of a plan.”

“Great.” Kail held up the slip of paper. “Let’s run it over dinner.”

Pyvic followed Hessler and Desidora into the Republic Library of Heaven’s Spire. “You’re certain that this will help?”

“I am certain of very little, Justicar.” She smiled over her shoulder as she walked into the building.

The Republic Library was one of the oldest buildings on Heaven’s Spire. Some of the structure likely dated back to the times of the ancients, like the palaces of the voyants. It was squat but long, and on the front of the building, between great arched windows, a great golden scroll was held aloft by Teses’vess, deity of wisdom and knowledge.

Inside, the air was cool and smelled of leather and old paper. Desidora flashed an amulet at the man behind the front desk, and Hessler showed a flat green crystal that chimed once as he held it up. Pyvic grunted and fished through his wallet, eventually pulling out a battered card.

The man behind the desk blinked in confusion, and Desidora gave a silvery laugh. “He’s with us,” she said, and the man at the desk nodded. She gestured for Pyvic to follow.

“I
have
a library card,” Pyvic muttered as Desidora led him not into the main hall, but to a small doorway Pyvic had assumed led to a washroom.

“Which I assume gives you free access to read tales of high adventure or scandalous stories of fair maidens being seduced into lives of wanton sin,” Hessler said, “but it does
not
allow you access to the lower stacks.”

The doorway led to a small hallway, which in turn led to a narrow set of stairs lit only by glowing crystal panels set into the walls at ankle height.

“I read
crime stories,
” Pyvic said with some annoyance, squinting as he followed them down.

“Of course you do,” said Hessler, “given your somewhat counterintuitive belief in the efficacy of intellect in solving crimes rather than the simplistic racial and social profiling that most town guards perform—”

“Tern prefers the ones about fair maidens being seduced into lives of wanton sin,” Desidora cut in, and Hessler sputtered to a halt. She smiled over her shoulder. “Usually by dark, brooding wizards.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Pyvic stopped and stared. While the main library upstairs was well lit and decorated with stained-glass windows showing great figures from the Republic’s past, the lower stacks were dark, the floors bare stone. The ceiling was twenty feet overhead, with small magical lamps casting light down every few feet. The shelves were metal, ten feet high stretching as far as he could see in the dim light.

Every one of them was filled. Nearby, Pyvic saw books, some looking nearly new, while others were cracked and ancient. Further down, he could see scroll tubes, thin slabs of stone etched with runes, and row upon row of tiny glowing crystals.

“Impressive,” he said after a long moment, looking down through countless centuries of knowledge. “How does that help us learn about the elven book?”

“Chits or helm?” Desidora asked Hessler.

“Chits, I think,” said Hessler, starting off down into the stacks.

Desidora nodded and walked to the first shelf. A squat, rounded podium sat in front of it, and Desidora tapped it. “The elves were once like us, Justicar,” she said, as the podium hummed to life, and a panel of glowing crystal unfolded from the edges. “They may even have been human, for all we know.”

“That’s considered apocryphal!” Hessler called back from whatever he was doing further down in the stacks. “No clear evidence either way.”

“In any event,” Desidora said, rolling her eyes as she tapped the crystal panel, “the elves modified themselves to better work with the tools of the ancients. They are attuned to magical energy in ways we can barely understand. In fact, it is said that their behavior even changes in proximity to crystal artifacts.”

“It’s likely a form of sensory overload,” Hessler’s voice called back, “like if a drink is hot enough to burn your mouth, you can’t tell whether it’s sweet or bitter.”

“Only instead of your sense of taste,” Desidora said, “imagine that it’s your emotions, your empathy. The senses that tell you when it’s not appropriate to shout in a quiet room.”

“They get that way around all the ancient magic,” Hessler shouted, now somewhere off to the left in the darkness. “That’s why they’re so reclusive. Well, that and societal regression as a deliberate subversion of human attempts to aggressively colonize and assimilate existing indigenous cultures. Desidora, do you have a number yet?”

“Almost!” She tapped on the panel a few more times. “K-K-116-point-287-dash-L.”

“Got it!”

“So what that all means, in the most practical sense of the word,” Desidora said, turning to Pyvic, “is that elves do not think the way we do.”

Finally, feeling like a fool, Pyvic got it. “They record information in a way that we can’t simply replicate,” he said, “because if we could, then there could be countless copies of
The Love Song of Eillenfiniel
lying around.”

“And if that were true,” Desidora said with an approving smile, “then why would the Empire want the original so badly?”

Hessler came out from a nearby stack. He held a long, thin plane of sky-blue crystal in both hands. “Now, while we can’t get the manuscript itself—that’s Loch’s job—we can look at the body of critical work surrounding the manuscript to see if there are themes that might give us a clue about what makes this book so important.” He placed the crystal plane gently atop the panel on the podium, then rotated it, squinting as he did. “Primitive detection methods,” he muttered to himself. “The lapitects are working on new systems that should double normal storage capacity within a few years.
“Ah, there we go.”

The panel glowed with sky-blue light, and Desidora nodded and started tapping again. “I have reproductions of the main text in several languages, dissertations upon the themes of the written work . . .”

“If it were part of the written work, then whoever wanted it would be satisfied with a copy.” Pyvic frowned. It had taken him a few moments to understand the methods, but now he was on a case again. He could solve cases. “What have you got that tries to put the elven-specific parts into human terms?”

“Checking.” Desidora tapped the panel again, squinting. “There are several. One student has . . . it appears to be a selection of foods to eat while reading the manuscript, to induce the right sensations.”

“Sounds messy,” Pyvic said.

“It
sounds
like someone’s liberal arts project.” Hessler snorted. “They might as well have glued felt cutouts onto sticks and performed it as a puppet show, for all its accuracy.”

“Don’t give up just yet,” Desidora said. “Can you find me . . . K-R-772-point-036-dash-A?”

“That’s . . .” Hessler squinted. “Fairy creatures?” He blinked. “Of course. Fairy creatures. They’re made from the same magic that the elves once worked with, which means that their minds may be able to understand the non-standard portions of an elven manuscript without having to resort to liberal arts synesthesia fakery. Excellent thinking. 036-dash-A, you said?” He hurried off.

“You’re cross-checking,” Pyvic said, nodding.

Desidora smiled. “Is that so surprising?”

“I suppose it shouldn’t be. Sorry.” He nodded, and her cheeks dimpled as she bowed regally in return. “After dealing with town guards so often, it’s easy to think that critical thinking is restricted to the Justicars.”

“Often,” Desidora said, “but not always. Hessler’s university and my religious training included brief, sporadic sections in which we were taught to think.”

Pyvic grinned. “So we cross-check criticism of the elven manuscript with works by fairy creatures, which ideally tells us
something
about what makes the book so damned important.”

“And lets us save Loch,” Desidora finished.

Pyvic looked down through the stacks into the darkness. “Loch can take care of herself.”

“The Knights of Gedesar are extremely dangerous,” Desidora said. “If some element of the Republic is using them against her . . .”

“
Kutesosh gajair’is
,” Ghylspwr growled from her waist.

“That doesn’t matter.” Pyvic glanced at the panel. “You’re going to get me something I can use. I’ll help Loch, she’ll put this behind her . . .” He sighed. “She just saved the Republic three months ago. She deserves a hero’s rest, not . . .”

“You’re doing everything you can,” Desidora said, and put a small, soft hand on his arm.

Pyvic forced a smile. “Thank you.”

“You
should
have told her you loved her in that message crystal, though.”

He gave her a hard look, and she returned a mocking one in kind.

Hessler came back from a stack a few rows away. He was holding another plane of crystal, this one a pale green. “Got it,” he said as he came over. “Now, if I can . . . no, upside down, stupid primitive . . . there.” He slid the new crystal into place atop the first one, and the sky-blue glow turned into a vivid turquoise.