Page 34 of The Book That Wouldn't Burn

Evar tried again. “You’re protecting my life but what’s my life worth if it’s spent in this cell?” He waved an arm at the stacks.

“Come away, Evar Eventari.” A white hand reached for him.

He wanted to rage but that would wash over the Soldier without trace. Instead, he drew the book from inside his jerkin and held it out, cover forward. “Her. I need to find her.” There was more to say. Much more. But none of the many languages at his disposal had the words for it. “I need to find her. She’s in danger. She needs help. What’s the Exchange? Where is it?”

The white hand stopped, inches from closing around Evar’s upper arm. For the longest moment the Soldier stayed frozen in mid-step. Slowly he lowered his foot but not his hand. The Soldier’s eyes darkened, the irises shading to grey, the pupils black as the char wall. Evar had never seen them anything but white before and the effect was alarming, changing what had always seemed more of an animate statue into someone very definitely alive, a mask that had become a face. More surprising than any variation in colour, though, was that for the first time ever the Soldier looked confused.

“I... also want... to find her.” The ivory hand changed course, grasping the front of Evar’s jerkin and dragging him down until his face was level with the Soldier’s. “I’ve lost her. I’ve lost myself...” He looked into Evar’s eyes, his own shading darker still. His voice, which had been sterile and without inflection Evar’s whole life, now took on tone and character. “Know this... if you hurt her, no army will save you from me.”

Evar tugged free, amazed. “I just want to help her. That’s why I need to leave. There might be a way out at the bottom of this door. Or... I don’t know... I’ve got to get lower. To the bottom. I think she’s in a basement somewhere...”

“You won’t find her out there, boy.” The Soldier took a step back. “Any idiot can see that. It’s fuc—” Without warning the colour fled from his eyes and his voice became its calm, implacable self once more. “Come away, Evar Eventari.” And he turned and walked back among the book towers.

For all but the most damaged of us, doubt is the other side of that coin. Success, even if earned through hard toil, comes hand in hand with the belief that one is an impostor, admitted to an inner sanctum by mistake and without invitation. The performer watches that sea of adoring faces with the firm belief that at any moment one among the crowd will voice their doubt, and as the tide must turn, so must their audience.

Limelight and Grease Paint: An Autobiography, by Sir John Good

CHAPTER 15

Livira

What’s a house reader?” Livira asked. She’d been at the library for a week. The question had burned behind her lips all that time but unlike a thousand others she had kept it there, unsure that she would like the answer.

“You really are from the Dust.” Meelan tore his bread in two and put half the roll in his mouth.

“Every grand house has a house reader.” Carlotte raised her voice above the clatter and din of the dining hall. “A house reader reads aloud to the family when asked to. They will translate from texts not in the empire tongue. They—”

“They summarize books for lazy rich people,” Arpix said. “Primarily the books that the king says we should read.”

“But why would the king care what books people read?” Livira had been told anyone could come and request any book they chose.

“The library is the source of truth. The king is sometimes called the Voice of the Library. The authority of his line has been built on revealing its truth,” Arpix said. “The king is the source of our law, but his decisions and opinions must stand on truth if he’s to sway the nobility and win their support. Among the gentry, and among our neighbouring kingdoms, opinions gather the most weight most swiftly if you can point at the ancient text that backs you up. It is the duty of the nobility to confirm this sacred connection. But riches make you idle and if you can pay someone else to do it for you...”

Livira frowned. “That sounds stupid.”

Meelan barked a rare laugh.

“It’s from history,” Carlotte said, as if that explained everything.

Jella wasn’t normally interested in conversations that weren’t about people, but she jumped in now. “The library’s why this city is here. The place is holy to us.”

Arpix nodded. “The library lifted us from the dust to what we have now in a handful of generations, and it can take us to the stars in a handful more. The power we have now came from the library and that power is wrapped in tradition. In statues, the rulers of other nations carry swords—ours carry a book in hand and are more feared for it. The empire—”

“Wait,” Livira said. “Is it an empire or a kingdom? We have a king not an emperor. And”—she raised a finger to forestall any answers and lowered her voice to a stage whisper—“who’s that woman with the red hair?”

Livira had felt the librarian in question’s disapproving gaze sliding over her on several occasions in the past few days, but now the woman’s stare needled across the dining hall with a sharpness that was hard to ignore. The robe she wore was darker than Master Logaris’s—indicating seniority though she was half his age. The frown she aimed at Livira felt more suited to some misshelved book, one perhaps that would be better given to the hearth than left in the company of its current neighbours.

“That’s Master Jost,” Carlotte hissed back in a lower voice. “Do not get on her bad side.”

“She leads trainee expeditions into the library sometimes,” Meelan said. “Likes climbing ladders, but not to reach books.” At Livira’s puzzlement he elaborated. “Mostly social ones in the city. You’re more likely to see her dining in some lord’s home than here with us lot.”

Livira stared back at Jost, aiming her own frown. The woman’s luxuriant hair marked her out among her fellow librarians, who tended towards short and practical cuts. Meelan’s comments on mixing with society down in the city explained that part at least.

“To answer your other question...” Arpix steered them back onto safer ground. “It was an empire. But it fractured as it spread, and now it’s a collection of kingdoms. But our kingdom is the largest and King Oanold has circulated historical accounts that show it’s always the emperor who controls the library, by ancient law. So, all the kingdoms should pay fealty to him. And they might grumble about it but all the alliances balance in our favour because without us, without the library, the other kingdoms would still be fighting sabbers with clubs and rocks.”

“Come on.” Jella, uninterested in Arpix’s lesson, had been brushing her thin brown hair, which, given that it was no longer than Meelan’s, seemed a waste of time to Livira. Putting her brush away, Jella stood up from the table. “Don’t want to be late back to class. Master Logaris is already in a bad mood.” The dining hall had all but emptied, and those that were still coming in were white-robed librarians planning to enjoy a late lunch. Arpix, Meelan, and Carlotte pushed back their chairs then followed Jella out.

Livira paused to cram a few bread rolls into her pockets. Her room already had a store of stale bread, threatening to moulder, but the instinct to hoard in times of plenty ran deep. Plenty never lasts—that was the lesson of the Dust—not that they had known what plenty was out there on their dried-up lake. For a moment she saw blood spattered on cracked ground, and the anger that never left her flared. With an effort she shook the image of the sabbers from her head, unclenched her fists, and got herself moving.

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