Valdemar 03 - [Collegium 01] - Foundation (39 page)

“I should hope they are well-organized, Trainee. The Guard prides itself on organization.”

Mags could almost hear the unspoken addition.
Unlike some other groups I could mention. . . .

From the back of the room, another old, but erect, man in a blue Guard uniform came walking toward them. He was balding, expressionless, and as impersonal as a lump of stone. “I am the Archivist. I assume since you are here, you have permission, so how can I help you find what you are looking for?”

This time, despite shields, Mags
did
hear the unspoken addition.
I can't have you running about pulling things down and never putting them back in order, or where they belong. Or worse, putting them back wherever you find room.

Now Mags, who had, up until this moment, loathed his geography and mapmaking class with a sincere and undying passion, suddenly was just as passionately grateful to them. Because now that he had been in those classes, he knew where Cole Pieters' mine was, so he knew what the nearest town was. And he knew that he had come from somewhere in the vicinity of that town, because he didn't remember a long journey. He
did
remember the shouting and screaming, he remembered cowering in a corner, then he remembered being put in a cart and given sweets to suck. It could not have been a very long journey. It had ended in a bare stone room, from which, after several boring days, Cole Pieters fetched him.

“We're lookin' for th' reports from around about a town called Blueflower Hill an' a place called Cole Pieters' mine, from about . . . twelve, fourteen years ago, sir.” He tried to make his tone and his expression as respectful as possible. This man would respond to respect.

The Archivist nodded. “Very good. That narrows the search down considerably. There are three Guard Posts in that area. Come with me.”

He led them between two of the rows of shelves, and stopped when they were so deeply in that Mags could not really see either end of the room. The man took ribbons out of his pocket, and sorted out a handful of white ones with little blue beads threaded on the ends. Each of the boxes had a ring attached to it; he tied these ribbons off on the rings of several of them.

“I've marked each of the boxes you will want to look through with these,” the man said. “You will probably see other boxes marked in this way; if you look through those, be careful not to disturb or remove any markers in the reports. As you finish a box, please remove the ribbon and either leave it at my desk at the rear, or attach it to a new box you wish to look through.” He tapped the end of the box. “The name of the Guard Post and the year are here. The boxes are organized geographically. Put everything back as you found it. You are—?”

“Heraldic-Trainee Mags and Bardic Trainee Lena,” Lena answered for both of them. “We're looking for information for Mags, sir.”

Mags waited for the Archivist to ask what that was, but he seemed utterly incurious.

“Very good. These will be your colors until you are finished with this particular research. When you have returned all the ribbons, if you wish to pursue another line of research, let me know what it is you are looking for, and I will assign you another set of ribbons.” He smiled thinly. “If it is nothing like as specific as this one, I shall ask you to confine your searches to one small area at a time.”

Lena looked as if she might say something. Mags prevented her from doing so by answering immediately, “Yessir, Archivist sir.”

“If you need me, I will be at my desk in the rear.” With that, he turned smartly about and walked back to the back of the room, heels clicking on the stone floor with military precision.

Mags and Lena looked at each other. Mags shrugged, and reached up, pulling down the first box.

“Well,” he said. “Let's get to it.”

The box was not as heavy as he feared; he hauled it over to the table, and they unloaded the papers inside. It was all organized with fanatic precision. Each report was folded inside a stiffer, thicker piece of paper, and a moon's worth was tied up with a ribbon or string. There were twelve bundles in each box: a full year's worth. A year began and ended at Midwinter Night, precisely.

They looked at the bundles, and then at each other. Mags shrugged, and gestured at the box. Lena took out the first moon—Midwinter Moon—and Mags got the second—Ice Moon. They sat down with their bundles and began to skim through them.

The reports were clear and concise, and written in a very legible hand. They also concerned every bit of minutiae on the life of the Guards and the Guard Post.

Mags went through his quickly, neatened all the reports so that all the edges were square, tied up the stack again, and went back for Thawing Moon. Lena was still deep in hers. Mags wondered what she was finding that was so fascinating.

She finished hers about the same time as he finished Thawing Moon. She got Budding Moon and he got Flowering Moon. And so it went right through the year to Dying Moon, which was the moon that ended on Midwinter Eve.

“Nothing?” he asked, as they put the stacks back in order again.

She shook her head. “And it's time for class.”

He nodded, and hoisted the box up. “I'll see you at lunch.”

He held onto the ribbon, just in case, and put the box back on its shelf. He looked the area up and down, noted the number that had white ribbons tied to them, and repressed his dismay. There were a lot of boxes. . . .

Ah, well. No one told him that this was going to be an easy job. He probably would not have believed them if they had.

If he didn't run now, he would be late for class. He would worry about all of this later.

All three of them met up for lunch, and Bear listened while he and Lena compared notes with every sign of open envy. “Damn these classes,” he growled finally. “It's not fair.”

“It's not exactly fun, Bear,” Lena pointed out, as gently as she could. “These are just military reports, and not even from moons when much happens. It's all about the running of the Guard Post, and it's not very interesting. How much of what was eaten, lost to vermin, and ordered and delivered. What training was going on. How many leagues of roads cleared of snow in the winter, the condition of the roads in the summer. Whatever troubles the nearby people had that the Guard had to get involved with. Disciplinary actions, who was promoted, who was demoted, who retired, who the replacements were. Evaluation reports on each of the men. There were only two reports from the Herald on circuit there the entire year; that was the only times he called there. At least in the year we looked at, absolutely nothing of any importance happened. Much more of this, and I am going to be caught falling asleep over these things.”

Bear did not look convinced.

“I'm makin' notes of medicines,” Mags offered, handing over a scant paragraph, which was all he'd gotten out of that entire year, written closely on a salvaged piece of paper. Not from the box—oh, no! He was terrified to discover what the penalty would be for such a sacrilege. The Archivist would probably demand fingers. “I don' know enough to know what's stuff you already know 'bout and what ain't, so I just take notes on it all.”

As Bear took the scrap of notes from Mags, he looked a little less sullen. “So you were thinking about me anyway—thanks!” He looked them over. “Nothing I can use, but you're a good note taker, Mags, and I appreciate it.”

Mags waved it away. “Wouldn't do less for ye, Bear.”

B
UT they never got the chance to talk any further about doing Bear's research. The elements had other things in mind.

Just as they were finishing their luncheon, there was something of a stir outside; through the windows of the dining hall they could see sudden activity in the form of workmen abandoning their tasks and being mustered in groups, with a Guardsman addressing each group.

“Huh. I wonder what that's about,” Bear said, looking puzzled.

Lena shook her head. “Nothing I know of, unless the weather is going to be bad, and they want the workmen to make sure things aren't going to get ruined by it.” They all stood up together, and were putting the plates in the tubs to be collected, when a most unusual person entered the dining hall from the door right at Mags' elbow. Now, this would not have been any special occurrence, except that the man was dressed in priestly fashion—and priests seldom came here.

Why should they? Not that they would have been unwelcome, but when a priest was invited to the Collegia for any reason, it was generally as an honored guest, and they were treated to something rather better than dining hall food.

Mags nudged Bear with his elbow, and just as Bear turned to see what Mags wanted, the priest did something no one had ever done in all the time Mags had been there. He went up to the big brass bell that was hung on the wall at the head of the room, and gave it three sharp pulls so that it rang out above the murmuring of voices.

All conversation ceased immediately, and all heads turned toward the front of the room.

“Thank you,” the man said, in a firm, carrying voice. “I have been asked to inform the Collegia of an impending emergency. Messages from the field have given us warning of the approach of a killing storm. The Herald FarSeer attached to the King's Council has also seen this storm strike Haven, and some of the Gifted among my Temple have confirmed it. We had been informed of this impending storm from Heralds posted west of us; we had hoped it would blow out before it reached the city, but it has only strengthened. It has already paralyzed the countryside to the west of Haven, and it will be on us at about sunset.”

Already there was a murmuring; he held up his hand and got silence once more. “This is not a storm to be trifled with. We expect several feet of snow, with such a powerful wind that there could be drifts as high as the rooftops. During the storm itself, movement even between buildings will be very hazardous, if not deadly. All classes are canceled. Trainees are being asked to help carry firewood and stack it at the doors of all buildings. Those who are not Trainees are asked to report to your immediate superiors for assignment to other work parties. We must ready each building here to be self-sufficient for a minimum of three days.” The murmuring began again, and the priest raised his voice. “Quickly! There is no time to waste!”

With that, people began to head out of the building, some of them on the run. Mags stared at his two friends, who looked incredulously back at him.

:This is no prank, Mags,:
Dallen said.
:Come get me. We'll haul logs.:

Lena and Bear looked at him still as if they could not believe what they had just heard; he nodded as the babbling that had broken out all over the room turned into a roar of voices. Heralds and Trainees were explaining to their friends what he was about to tell his. “It's no joke. We gotta get goin'. Dallen says him 'n me are gonna haul logs. We best get at it.” He gave them what he hoped was a stare that conveyed the gravity of the situation.
He
had been through blizzards like this. They might not have.

Lena took a deep breath, looking as if she didn't quite believe it could be that bad, but didn't dare disbelieve him either. “Well, in that case—”

“We get to it,” Bear said firmly. “We daren't lose my plants. Lena, let's get wood stacked against the wall by my furnace in case no one thinks of it. Mags? In case no one thinks of my furnace?”

He nodded, making an instant decision. Dallen, he was sure, could make it right. But better to take care of it now than to wait for permission, which might come too late or not at all. “Dallen an' me'll bring ye logs, but getting 'em split'll be up t' you.” Mags went to the line of pegs where all the coats and cloaks were hung; he wiggled his way in among all the others going after their gear, grabbed his coat, and hurried down to the stable where all the Companions, partnered or not, were being put into abbreviated harnesses with chains on the sides. Mags recognized these from his lessons as the “pulling harnesses” all Heralds took with them into the field. Dallen seemed to know where he was going, so Mags just hauled himself up onto his Companion's bare back and joined a procession of similarly mounted Trainees, Companions alone, and even stablehands with common horses down a little road he hadn't paid much attention to before this. It ran along the inside of the wall around the Palace and Companion's Field, and it ended in the biggest pile of logs he had ever seen in his life.

Until this moment it had never occurred to him to question where all the firewood came from for all the buildings within that wall. Now he knew. It looked as if an entire forest had been brought here and stacked up. There were three men in heavy clothing with iron bars on the top of each stack of logs, carefully levering logs away so that they tumbled down the side of the stack to land on the snow. Once a log was down, a Companion and Trainee, or a Companion alone, or a regular horse led by a stablehand, went up to the log. Chains were hitched around it, the chains from the harness fastened to it, and off they went, heading for the Palace.