Whatever that meant. If Caelen said it was allowed, it must be.
He opened his own mind a little further, to the four in his vicinity, and told them what Caelen told him.
All four Guardsmen nodded, although one looked a little startled. Caelen signaled for all of them to move forward.
Well, Mags was used to crawling on his belly through narrow tunnels at need; this was nothing to him. He sheathed the sword, turned his belt around so that the scabbard was at his back, and flattened himself on the floor, skittering along noiselessly, like a lizard.
The door into the Archive room was open a crack. The large Guard eased it open as well. They all moved inside.
It was brighter here than in the outer room, but still dim. The worktable was overturned, and one of the chairs smashed, a box lying on its side with the contents strewn on the floor. Mags reported it all to Caelen.
Once again, Mags relayed the instructions. This time he was the one to give the signal, and the designated Guard, who was almost as good at belly slinking as Mags, eased forward.
They all inched their way across the frigid floor, their breaths puffing out and hanging in the still air in tiny white clouds. Halfway down the length of the room, the silence was broken by a low moan.
“Hushabye baby,” said a strange, high voice. “They haven’t come for you yet. Here. Drink your drinkie, there’s a good baby.” The voice giggled. “Oh, and when they come for you, there will be
All four nodded, and he slithered past them, trying to breathe as slowly and silently as he could.
When he got to the end of the shelves, he moved over across the aisle so that he was sheltered by their bulk, then peered around the corner.
The Archivist’s desk was here, and a strange, thin, dark man was seated at it. Behind him, tied to another chair, bound hand and foot and with a gash on his forehead, was Bear, unconscious, but still alive. The man was dressed in odd clothing of a very dark gray; his head and hands were wrapped in what appeared to be bandages, and despite the fact that it was freezing in this room, his arms were bare. Laid out on the surface of the desk was a glittering array of knives.
The man seemed to sense Mags looking at him. He glanced sharply at the shelves, but he was looking high, not low, and Mags pulled back out of sight. He waited, listening for footsteps, but none came.
He slithered back to the others.
Mags motioned to the others to put their heads together with him. Carefully, Mags thought those instructions into the heads of the Guardsmen as hard as he could, staring into their eyes. All four of them nodded slowly. The redhead pointed at Mags, and mouthed the word “bait.” Relieved, Mags nodded.
Gulping, Mags did so. The big man looked angry, the redhead narrowed his eyes, the third shrugged, and the fourth smiled grimly.
Mags looked at the fourth curiously. The man stared back at him, hard. Slowly, Mags sensed a thin mental voice.
Mags nodded.