Page 84 of The Book That Wouldn't Burn

“It’s my trainee robe or a dirt-coloured dress that I stopped being able to fit into when I was twelve.”

“Find someone who’ll lend you something,” Meelan said.

“Who? They’re all in class. And I’m not going back in there to make a fuss. Logaris would have me cataloguing geology books in the stink chamber for a week.”

That gave Meelan pause for thought. It was certainly the kind of thing Logaris might do, and the stink chamber was pretty bad. Something to do with the way they’d cured the leather for a fair portion of the books in that section, or the beasts from which the hide was taken. The worst part was that unlike most smells, you didn’t get acclimatised to the stink chamber—somehow it got worse hour by hour until you spent half your time retching. And afterwards you brought it home with you on your robe and skin. “Do your best—I’ll meet you at the mountain exit,” he said.

“They’re all mountain exits.”

Meelan turned his back on her and went off to his room. Livira went to hers to consider her very limited choices. She made her clothing selection almost immediately, then lingered to ponder the motive behind Yute’s summons.

Livira had seen Yute all of three times in the years since she was nearly gassed while delivering books to the laboratory. She’d spoken to him on only one of those occasions. He’d mentioned that he had been getting reports accusing her of extracurricular activities for which the lightest punishment was expulsion. His parting advice had been not to get caught doing it. Much as Livira wanted to ask Yute the questions she’d been hoarding, the ones too dangerous to ask Master Logaris, she couldn’t help feeling angry with him for his abandonment of her to the processes of the library. But at the same time she understood that he’d saved her from the low-status jobs in the city that her heritage would have chained her to. So she also felt angry with herself and her own ingratitude.

—

“What’s taking him so long?” Livira asked her question to the wind, and not for the first time. Getting no answer, she went back to chasing her thoughts in Yute-centred circles. Livira had emerged from the complex to find that night had fallen, and the air carried the bite of winter. She’d spent so long poring over books and roaming the shelves that she’d forgotten about things like weather. The mountainside on a winter’s night was a rude reminder. She hugged herself, pressed into what little shelter the folds of the cliff face offered, and tried to remember what it had been like climbing to the library’s entrance that first time.

“Seriously?” Meelan startled her back into the present. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

“Gods’ teeth, Meelan! Where did you steal that lot from?” She wanted to say it was from Arpix, but while Arpix had a good-quality jacket and trews stashed away in his cupboard they were nothing like the finery Meelan currently sported. “You look like...” She wasn’t sure what he looked like. A prince? Certainly someone who would ride Crath’s streets in a carriage with their own crest.

Meelan waved her words away. “And you look like you’ve stolen the head librarian’s robes! You can’t wear that!”

“It’s this or my trainee blue. And Yute’s summons said ‘finest.’ ” Livira looked down at the black robe. She’d grown three hand widths since the Mechanism had dyed it. She hoped it wasn’t noticeably short but her cold ankles suggested otherwise.

Meelan gave a disgusted snort, shook his head, and turned back to the path that wound its way down towards the city. “Come on.”

Livira hurried after him and linked her arm in his. “Meelan,” she asked teasingly, “are you rich?”

“A bit.” He didn’t sound very happy about it.

“I’ve known you nearly half my life. How am I just discovering this?”

Meelan shrugged and untangled himself from Livira—in order, she hoped, to negotiate the dark path more safely. “You’re the one who spends her life uncovering secrets. You tell me.”

A twinge of guilt ran through Livira at that. The truth was that she dug out the secrets that interested her most, the big ones; the library secrets were the mountain she intended to climb. Meelan knew he was more interested in her than she was in him. Both of them knew it and both of them knew they both knew it. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she deflected.

“People look at you differently when they know you’re rich.” Meelan walked ahead of her, following the path by starlight. “You could give them enough money to change their life, they think—but most lives can swallow any amount and stay the same.”

“You can stop them being hungry!” Livira caught him up again but did not attempt to link arms. She’d been a long time in the library, long enough to be surprised by the cold, but not long enough to forget being hungry. Even the library didn’t hold enough time for that.

“True.” Meelan twisted his mouth. “I wasn’t thinking about that kind of poor. I suppose I should have been. But most of the people down there”—he nodded towards the carpet of lights spread out below them—“most of them think money would change who they are, and that’s the thing: you take yourself with you wherever you go. Money can’t buy a new you. At least that’s what I find.”

A dark shape loomed behind them. “Rich people talk a lot of bollocks about money. But the bottom line is always that they’re keeping hold of it.”

“Malar!” Livira whirled around.

Malar took a step backwards. “What’s up with your face, girl?”

“What?” Livira pressed both hands to her cheeks, searching, then caught the glint of starlight in Malar’s eyes. “It’s called smiling, you idiot. I’m pleased to see you!”

“No accounting for taste.” Malar shrugged and looked at Meelan. “And this would be Sirrar Meelan. I’m to escort you two to Yute’s place, on account of how murdery things tend to get every time Livira leaves the library.”

“Once!” Livira protested. “OK, twice, but it was on the same day.”

“The only day you’ve visited.” Malar pushed between them and took the lead. “Come on then. I’ve got a beer waiting.”

Whilst it is the first words of a child that often gain notoriety among the family, it’s their last words that are more likely to continue to roll down eternity’s slope. For those whose path leads to the executioner’s stage, this presents the rare opportunity to reach an audience far beyond the picnickers, gawkers, delighted enemies, and misty-eyed lovers who might crowd in upon the day itself.

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