Parelceus frowned.
“Is not the purpose of a book to be useful?”
“Of course. Of course … but within the rules of the Scholarium.”
“The book would be useful to me in a commission for Lord Bhayar. You may recall that he did name me his scholar?”
“Ah … I did hear something about that.”
“I’d be most happy to sign a pledge that I will return the book upon the completion of this commission.”
“But that would violate the rules of the Scholarium.”
“I know the permanent removal is forbidden, and that makes great sense. You are right. If anyone could remove any number of books, before long there would be no library.” Quaeryt paused. “But where is it written that borrowing a single book in pursuit of a commission of the Lord of Telaryn is prohibited?”
“There is the matter of tradition…” protested Parelceus.
“Would it be in the interests of the Scholarium Solum to refuse on the grounds of tradition … over a single book?”
A calculating look appeared in the hard brown eyes. “You would sign a pledge … and perhaps a deposit…”
“A pledge … yes. A deposit would be most unnecessary. If I fail to return the book, then you could deny me all privileges accorded me as a scholar. Before long I would not be welcome in any community of scholars. Why would I risk that over a single book when I struggled so long to become a scholar?”
“But … the rules … others…?”
“I can borrow the book, or I can tell Lord Bhayar that I could not. That’s your choice. Of course, you could always ask the princeps.” Quaeryt looked calmly at Parelceus and waited.
After a long moment, Parelceus sighed. “I suppose it is a matter of practicality. I will need two copies of your pledge, one for the files here, and one for the princeps.”
“I’ll write them out here and now.”
Parelceus sighed again.
Almost a glass later, Quaeryt was seated in the shielded corner of the north porch of the Scholars’ House, reading through the
One paragraph struck him as particularly representative.
… while it can be debated whether Hengyst’s methodology in the razing of Noveault was accepted as typical of the border skirmishes between Ryntar and Tilbor or whether it was typicality carried to excess as a result of the Tilboran massacre of Ryntaran peasants outside of Bluodyn the previous spring, there is little question that Hengyst wished to remove all threats, real or perceived, along the border with Tilbor before he embarked on his decade- long war of consolidation against Tela that eventually, if uneasily and in a fashion that required considerable martial prowess on the part of his descendants, both son and grandson, in maintaining stability, resulted in the foundation of the larger state of Telaryn, and laid the crumbling foundation of governance later undermined and superseded with great effect by the Yaran warlords of the Montagne province, whose ascension to power and the Lordship of Telaryn, while not necessarily acclaimed, especially given their fire and passion, reputedly bestowed on them because they inhabited a land where the mountains still spewed fire, was most obviously accepted with relief by the majority of the populace …
Quaeryt blotted his forehead, not necessarily from the heat. Still, he’d found no other comparatively voluminous history of Tilbor in the library, nor one so handsomely bound.
He kept reading for another three glasses, before he returned to his small cubby on the second floor of the house. There he imaged a hole in the false wall he’d imaged into place in the nook that held his bed pallet, removed the strongbox and unlocked it, placed the tome inside, and then locked and replaced the strongbox. After imaging away the hole in the wall, he descended to the main floor, from where he made his way out into another sweltering day and down the hill to Vinara, one of the tavernas he frequented when he wanted neither to spend many coppers nor to risk severe indigestion.
He nodded politely to the civic patroller he passed. The patroller barely nodded in return.
While some cafes and tavernas closed from second glass to fourth glass, especially in summer, Vinara was not one of them, perhaps because it was located in an old thick-walled dwelling that had a small fountain in its shaded courtyard. Or it might have been that Celina and her husband simply saw an opportunity. Either way, Quaeryt was glad the taverna was one of those that fit his habits.
He had no more than stepped into the dimness of the front entry when Celina appeared, flashing a coquettish smile for all that her figure was definitely excessively matronly. “There is a small table by the fountain, scholar.” Her Tellan was that of old Solis, softer and recalling a vanished time.
“I would like that.” He returned the smile. “And you will serve me?”
“Who else would dare with all your words and improper behavior?” The proprietress did not quite flounce out into the courtyard, where she pointed to the circular table so close to the fountain that one edge held a sheen of dampness.
“Thank you, gracious mistress.” Quaeryt grinned.
“Would that you would ever be that fortunate.” Her tone was severe, but there was a glint in her eyes.
“A man can dream…”
“A man’s dreams are often a maiden’s nightmares.”
“I’m far kinder than that.” He paused. “Is the cucumber sauce fresh?”
“Less than a glass ago, scholar.”
“Then I’ll have the lamb flatbread with it and the mild rice fries.”
“And the pale lager?”
“That, too.”
Celina hurried off, and Quaeryt followed her steps for a moment. Sitting in the shade by the courtyard fountain was the most comfortable he’d felt in days. He wasn’t looking forward to meeting with Bhayar again, and especially not to what likely awaited him in Tilbora, but unless the weather was truly unseasonal, the voyage to Nacliano would be more pleasant than sweltering through the summer in Solis-or riding along the dusty and all too winding roads that led to the eastern coast of Telaryn.
The lager and lamb-filled flatbread arrived quickly, and Quaeryt took his time, enjoying both … as well as bantering with Celina. The extra pair of coppers he left were worth it, and he reminded himself that they had taken only a bit of effort.
He was reluctant to depart Vinara, but well aware of the dangers of being late to the palace. Bhayar might keep him waiting, but the Lord of Telaryn got more than testy with those who were not available at his beck and call-and that was another reason why going to Tilbora was a good idea, since Bhayar had been testier than usual of late.
Quaeryt arrived at the private gate to the palace at a quarter to fourth glass. After a few pleasantries with Fherad, another of the guards he knew in passing, he made his way through the gate and up the steps to the second guard. After he passed the man, as he was walking along the colonnaded passage toward the locked interior staircase, a woman addressed him.
“Scholar?” The voice was somewhere between girlish and womanly, yet slightly husky.
Quaeryt debated not halting, but courtesy, caution, and curiosity won out. He stopped and looked past the marble column and through the lacy screen of ferns, some of which had browned edges despite their nearness to the fountains.
Beyond the ferns, the not-quite-gangly girl-woman who wore riding pants and a woman’s light riding jacket to conceal her figure sat in the shade of a tall fern less than three yards from the fountain that supposedly depicted a sea sprite, with water geysering from its blowhole and from its barbed tail. A riding hat with a veil rested on a well-shaped leg. Her light brown hair held natural waves, but not excessive curls. Beside her sat a gray-haired duenna, who turned and regarded Quaeryt with a disapproving expression.
“You can enter the gardens. Take the next archway.” Her words were offered in formal Bovarian, rather
