Page 63 of The Book That Wouldn't Burn

Soon after, in the narrow alleys of low town, rooftops sealed away all sight of the laboratory, and Arpix’s sense of direction vanished with it.

Livira rolled her aching shoulders under the straps of her book satchels. “Are we lost?”

“Oh, you’re more than lost, my dear.” A tall man with long, greasy hair and a rank smell to him insinuated himself into their path.

“We’re on library busi—”

The glimmer of a knife in the man’s hand cut Arpix off. Suddenly the alleyway was very empty. The man’s face was unremarkable, mean, bony, but something cold and empty lay in his eyes, the kind of hunger that told Livira this wasn’t about theft. The man meant to kill them. The terror that filled her came mixed with a sense of waste—how pointless to die for unknown reasons in a stinking alley, with all the secrets of the library so close at hand and so untouched.

“Run!” Arpix said. But he made no move to run and his courage anchored her. Besides, she could hear the man’s accomplice closing from behind.

“On your way, friend.” The knifeman raised his gaze to the person behind Livira. Not an accomplice then. “This ain’t your business.”

“Disagree.”

“I ain’t alone.”

“You weren’t. Are now.”

The man who pushed between Arpix and Livira stood a head shorter than the knifeman and didn’t have a weapon.

“Back off!”

The newcomer continued forward.

The knifeman raised his blade. “Back off! I—”

The exchange was too fast to see. The taller man fell to the ground clutching his chest with crimson fingers.

As the shorter man turned Livira knew him. “Malar?” He looked much the same, perhaps a little greyer, a little more grizzled. The wounds the sabber claws had torn across his face were puckered white seams now.

“Dust-rat.” He inclined his head.

“Malar!” Livira couldn’t wipe the grin from her face even while the rest of her was still trembling from shock. A sudden frown pushed it away. “Malar?” The city held tens of thousands. “What are the odds...?”

“When I’m being paid to keep an eye on you, they’re pretty high.” He wiped his dagger on his cloak then returned it to his belt. The man on the ground didn’t move or so much as groan. “We’re even, dust-rat, don’t forget that. Coin’s why I’m here. Pure and simple.” He turned and walked away. “Come on. And keep your wits about you. The three clowns I put down were paid, same as I was. Probably more of them about.”

Malar led them out of the slum and angled them upwards, starting the climb to the laboratory. Livira talked at him, her words running from her like water from a holed bucket. Where the shock had Arpix white-faced and silent, she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. She talked about everything, and Malar ignored her until she announced her intention to find her friends from the settlement. She wanted to know they were doing well. She’d been collecting her meagre wage to make sure the little ones could eat. She hadn’t imagined it would be two years before she came back out of the library entrance.

“Give me the money. I’ll see it gets to this Benth of yours. Your lot are fine though. It’s the ones just outside the walls you should worry about.”

“The people outside the wall?” Livira asked.

“Folk from the Dust,” Malar said. “There’s hundreds camped at the base of the wall. The king won’t let them in. Says they’re thieves and rapists come here because they’re too lazy to work their land anymore.”

“But why are they here? What do they eat?”

“Running from the sabbers, they say.” Malar paused at the base of the long stair leading up to the laboratory and continued in a very different voice as if to make it clear he was pretending. “Of course, that can’t be true because the king’s armies have scored one glorious victory after another over the bestial foe.”

—

Livira saved her breath for the climb as the streets began to grow steep and the satchels seemed to get heavier by the yard. To distract herself from the pain in her shoulders and memories of a knife glittering in an alley, she focused on what she’d learned since coming down from the library. Frowning furiously and keeping her eyes on the steps, she tried to fit various ideas together, jamming one at the other as if they were poorly designed puzzle pieces that only force of will might fit together. The library was a source of knowledge—the best source anyone knew of. On the pages of ancient books were secrets that unlocked the mysteries of fire and alchemy. The laboratory fed on such secrets, churning out new wonders every year, be they more efficient arrow-sticks, cheaper, brighter lighting, medicines that truly worked, or explosives that could shatter rock. And yet the faith that those successes engendered had allowed King Oanold to sow convenient lies, also underwritten by books from the library.

“With an endless library,” Livira muttered, “if you search long enough, you can find a book that agrees with just about any opinion you have... And we’re the engine of that search. We give the king what he wants to hear, what he wants the people to hear. He doesn’t ask the librarians to bring him books about the sabbers—he asks them to bring him books that say ‘this’ about sabbers.”

“Keep your voice down.” Arpix panted up alongside her, though the idea that anyone save him might overhear her was ridiculous. In a barely intelligible whisper he hissed, “Wait till you hear what Bagnus told me when we were hunting down these books.”

“What did he tell you?” Bagnus was the oldest on their table by several years and overdue a move to the next.

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