Page 35 of The Book That Wouldn't Burn

She sped after the others, emerging from the dining hall into a glancing collision with someone hurrying the opposite way. Books hit the floor with half a dozen thuds.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Reluctantly, Livira tore her gaze from Meelan and Carlotte’s retreating backs and looked to see what harm had been done. To listen to some of her older classmates, if a spine got broken the librarians would rather it belonged to a trainee than to a book.

For a moment the preponderance of grey made Livira think she’d felled someone senior, but it was a girl on her knees collecting the fallen volumes. She wasn’t library staff—no robes but was dressed instead in a jacket and blouse, pleated skirts spread around her, an odd wedge of a hat crowning luxuriant chestnut hair.

Livira shot another look after the others, now vanishing around a corner. She considered running after them and abandoning the girl before her. With a sigh she crouched down and reached for the nearest volume. “Let me help.”

Something about the lettering on the first book’s cover caught Livira’s attention. Not the title—something dull about ethics—but the author’s name. She began to spell out the sounds. “Dah-Vris-Yu—”

“Oh gods! The librarian really is trying to make a house reader out of you!”

Livira looked up and found herself staring into the blue eyes of Serra Leetar, her fine gown replaced with this symphony of greys, her jewellery traded for a single golden circle pinned to the lapel of her charcoal jacket.

“I’m training to be a librarian.” Livira thrust the recovered book at her.

Serra Leetar put a hand to her mouth, almost hiding the incredulous smile. “Did he tell you that?”

“Yes.” Though in that moment Livira couldn’t remember if those words had actually passed Yute’s pale lips.

“Well, Lord Algar will be delighted to hear that his bet’s been taken up.” Serra Leetar collected the last of her fallen volumes.

“What are you doing here?” Livira stood up, brushing at her knees. “University students go to the front desk.” Serra Leetar had said she’d set her sights on the university.

The girl got up, scowling over her armful of books. “Lord Algar has direct access. I don’t need to use the front desk.” And with that she stalked off.

Livira was left with the strange impression that her last question had caused more upset than their collision had. Any pondering on the subject ended abruptly, though, as the last part of the name on the book she’d picked up settled into place. “Dah-Vris-Yu-Te... Davris Yute.” She knew why the combination of letters was familiar. Not because of what they spelled but because she had seen the last part before. In faded letters high upon the rock opposite Yute’s house. Had the librarian been deriding his own attention-seeking when he talked about the writing? Or had some relative of his climbed so high and set their name for the birds to see?

—

Livira was the last into the classroom, running past Master Logaris and blurting apologies on her way to the table where the others already sat. A quill, ink, and a brownish sheet of the lowest quality paper awaited her. Arpix nodded to the open book she was to copy from. Livira flexed her writing hand and settled to her work.

The business of learning to read and write was both an immense frustration and at the same time the most wonderful thing that Livira had ever done. For the first week her head ached, as if threatening to burst under the pressure of all the new information being crammed into it. Sleep didn’t happen. She lay in the unwavering light, staring at the ceiling where letters arranged themselves into one word after another. Her lips moved soundlessly as the words ran across the stone like a river, whole sentences streaming by. There was so much that was new, so much to learn, that for a time even Livira’s irrepressible urge to explore, investigate, break rules, and get into trouble was overwhelmed. It turned out that all she’d ever needed in order to behave herself was a total absence of boredom.

Jella said the dark circles around Livira’s eyes made her look like a coot-rat. She said Livira needed to eat more, sleep more, spend less time at her books.

Meelan said Jella was the worst teacher ever and criticised Livira’s quill work. But even he expressed muted amazement at how swiftly she was learning.

Carlotte was the best teacher to start with. She had a little sister and had taught her the basics the year before coming to the library. Arpix was the best teacher now. He had the sharpest mind and was quickest to understand Livira’s confusions. Her main frustration concerned the constant inconsistencies.

Arpix sympathised. “I’ve learned three languages so far and all of them have rules that make no sense and are broken almost as many times as they’re followed. The thing to remember is that it’s nobody’s fault. No one sat down and said, ‘Right, I’m going to invent a language.’ Languages bubbled up out of animal grunting and shaped themselves over a thousand lifetimes, and, like streams cutting their course across a plain, they’re always changing.”

“Languages change?” Livira had been aghast, part of her had wanted to believe Master Logaris was joking when he’d said as much on the day of her arrival. She was having enough difficulty hitting the target without being told it was moving.

“Not swiftly, but pick three books in Charn tongue spaced a few centuries apart and you’ll see it. At first sight you might think the youngest and the oldest were written by authors of different nations.”

“Where did they keep the books before the library was built?” Livira wanted to know.

“We don’t have any books that old.” Carlotte joined them. “I’m not sure there are books that ancient.”

“But...” Livira frowned. “Then how old is the king? If his great-grandfather built this—”

Meelan rose from the other side of the classroom table and without a word set his finger across Livira’s lips, dark eyes boring into hers from beneath his low, black fringe. “Enough.”

That night Jella lingered at the door to Livira’s room, and when the others were gone, she spoke in a low voice. “Some questions about the king...” She took a deep breath. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that if you don’t have anything nice to say then don’t say anything at all?”

Livira shook her head. “She died when I was little, but I’d remember if she’d said something that stupid.”

Jella pursed her lips. “Well, it’s not stupid when it’s about the king. It can get you in trouble. And that’s why people don’t want to answer you. Get some sleep.” And she left Livira to her thoughts.

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