Page 18 of The Book That Wouldn't Burn

Livira’s gaze darted wildly between the objects on the table.

“Do you need me to explain ‘book’ to you?” the woman asked, and the giggles that had died away when Livira started answering the questions about beans now surfaced again.

The old woman at the next table looked at Livira sympathetically from behind the curios arrayed before her. She offered a nod of encouragement.

Livira reached for one of the rectangular things. The woman had said “any of the books” and these were the only things of which there was more than one. It seemed to be a box of some sort, but as she opened it, she saw that it was full of paper, and that every part of the paper was covered with markings. She looked up from the page, met the woman’s level stare, and returned her eyes to their study. The markings meant something. Her aunt had told her they did. Was reading the business of saying what they meant?

The sniggering grew.

“You’re in the wrong place, child,” the woman said heavily. “The trick with the numbers was impressive but you’re in the wrong place. Go down to the second door. A merchant would be happy to have you tally his warehouse goods.”

“I bet she can’t even write her name!” a boy called.

The white-robe cocked an eyebrow at her. “If you can use a quill you can allocate at door three.” She took the feather, dipped the pointed end in the black liquid and unrolled part of the parchment, placing a smooth, flat stone to hold it. “Here.” She offered Livira the quill, not unkindly.

Livira took it.

“Write your name.” She might as well have asked for one of the moons.

Livira leaned over the table, holding the quill trembling above the yellowed expanse of the parchment. A drop of glistening blackness fell from the tip and hit, spattering smaller droplets in all directions. More laughter.

My name? Livira tried to imagine what that might look like. She closed her eyes, lowered her hand to the parchment, and began to move the tip in small, precise motions. Time passed. Sweat crowded her brow. Twice she had to dip the quill again. Three times. Finally, she straightened up.

The woman looked at her with narrow, angry eyes. Gone was any of the kindness on display when encouraging her to write her name. “This is Crunian. How do you possibly know Crunian?”

“Crunian Four, if I’m not mistaken,” said a softer voice. A tall, impossibly thin man had come to stand behind the woman. Livira had seen him from the corner of her eye as he entered the hall through one of the corridors at the back. He wore a deep-red patch over his right eye, which left Livira with the unsettling impression that she was staring into the recently vacated bloody socket. He wasn’t wearing robes like the others—his clothes lacked the ostentation of the parents at the foot of the stairs: black jacket, charcoal waistcoat with a silver chain looped from one pocket to a buttonhole. His hair rose around his head in unnatural grey curls and seemed as if it were something he wore like a hat. “Yes, Crunian Four. Holy text. Strangely incomplete. Clearly copied. I doubt she knows what any of it means. Someone’s coached her.”

The word “cheat” reached Livira, an overly loud whisper from the group at the corridor. Her face burned both with a shame that she didn’t feel she deserved and an anger that she didn’t fully understand.

“Enough of this farce.” The old woman from the third table got up from behind the collection of strange objects scattered before her. “Send her back where she belongs and find out why Hendron let her in in the first place.” It seemed that the arrival of the man with the eyepatch had swept away any sympathies she might have had, infecting her with his disapproval. A powerful man then. One who even these people feared.

A large-knuckled hand descended, taking a grip on Livira’s shoulder. “Come with me, serra.” Livira was about to protest that she wasn’t Serra, that was the other girl, then realised it was some kind of title. A title not meant for her, though there was no mockery in the guardsman’s voice.

“And send Hendron in to explain himself!” the thin man told the guard.

“I asked Hendron to let her through.” The speaker came from the same direction as the guard had come. He passed them both, with a swish of grey robes. The assessors watched the white-skinned man with guarded expressions. Eyepatch’s single eye held only distaste.

“Master Yute.” The woman with the books inclined her head.

“She speaks the sabbers’ tongue too.” Yute came to peer at the parchment on which Livira had made the marks that her memory had stolen from the torn scrap in her pocket. “Curious.”

“A parlour trick.” The thin man dismissed it with a wave of one narrow hand.

Yute leaned in closer. “It looks as if she’s never held a quill before—see how the lettering improves as she goes. And did you notice that she’s written it upside down? You didn’t need to rotate the scroll to read it.” He turned to face Livira. “She came in from the Dust with a soldier. Not an hour through the gates to look at them. He wouldn’t let her go with the rest. Clearly his judgement was that she’s destined for better things.” He looked at the thin man with the eyepatch. “You disagree, Algar?”

“Soldiers get paid to fight the king’s enemies, not to allocate his subjects.” Algar glared at the guardsman as if it was his fault. “After you’ve brought Hendron in find this soldier too. I want to know his captain’s name.” He returned his sour gaze to Livira. “The child’s learned a few things off by heart. Parroting some sabber yapping, scrawling a paragraph of Crunian Four...”

“Her mental arithmetic was impressive,” Yute countered.

Algar waved the words away. “I’m sure any of the others could do better.” He swivelled his singular gaze towards the bald man at the first table. “Botan, pose one of her questions to Serra Leetar.”

Botan gave a heavy shrug and picked the first and easiest. “Thirty-six two hundred and elevens.”

Livira would have protested that the girl had already heard the answer but the fact that it was so simple combined with the weight of hostility in the room made her hold her tongue for once.

“I... ah.” Serra Leetar coloured beneath the chestnut sweep of her hair. She licked her lips, eyes focused on something that wasn’t there.

Livira frowned. If she’d forgotten the answer given shortly before then surely she could just see it anew?

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