his arms across his chest defensively. “Well, I can’t let you in,” he repeated.
Things seemed to have reached an impasse, but suddenly another section of door—this one apparently the upper half of the smaller—swung open and a second figure stepped into view. It was a boy, not much older than she was, rather tall and angular in build, his black hair worn long, his jaw lightly bearded, and his eyes bright with secret laughter.
“What’s happening, Pinch?” he asked the little man, arching an eyebrow at Mistaya. “Is there a problem?”
“This girl wants in, and you know the rules as well as I do. We are not to allow entry to anyone, no matter—”
“Yes, I know the rules. But this is my sister, Ellice. She’s here at my invitation.” He stepped forward quickly and took hold of an astonished Mistaya’s hands. “Hello, Ellice. I gather you got my letter and decided to come help us with the work. I’m very happy to see you.”
He bent forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
“You never mentioned a sister,” Pinch declared accusingly.
“You never asked,” the boy answered quickly. “No one ever asks about my family, so I don’t talk about them. But I have one, you know. Everyone has a family.”
Pinch did not look satisfied. “Well, no one said you could invite her to come here,” he pressed. “The rules are the rules. No one is allowed into the building. No one is to be given shelter or fed or encouraged in any way to try to enter or to remain at Libiris. His Eminence has made it quite clear.”
“His Eminence has also made it quite clear, on more occasions than I care to think about, that we need someone else to help with the work. You and I and the Throg Monkeys are not enough to accomplish what is needed. You’ve heard him say that, haven’t you?”
“Well, yes, I’ve heard him, but—”
“Have you done anything to try to satisfy his complaints?” the boy interrupted quickly.
Pinch frowned. “No, I—”
“Then please don’t criticize those of us who have. There is a reason I am chief sorter and chronicler and you are an overseer. Now let’s go inside and get my sister warm.”
Still holding Mistaya’s hand, the boy pushed his way past a reluctant Pinch into the doorway. “Wait!” Mistaya exclaimed. “What about my friends? My escort,” she corrected quickly. “They must come inside, too.”
Pinch stepped quickly to block their way. “I draw the line here!” he declared, glaring at the G’home Gnomes. “These two were not invited to come and are not fit in any case to do the work. They must remain here!”
Thom nodded reluctantly, giving Mistaya a look. “I’m afraid that’s so. But there are stables on the south side of the building where they can get out of the weather and sleep the night. I will see that they have something to eat.”
“Humpphh,” Pinch growled disagreeably. “Very well. But they must leave here tomorrow at first light.”
Poggwydd and Shoopdiesel looked very put upon but showed no inclination to argue. Recognizing that Thom had pushed the matter of gaining entry as far as he could, Mistaya nodded. “Good night, my faithful friends,” she called over to the Gnomes, not without some small warmth. “Thanks for bringing me. I will see you in the morning to bid you farewell.”
She followed Thom through the small door and heard Pinch close and bar it tightly behind her.
Before the unfriendly little man could offer further thoughts on the matter of Mistaya’s arrival and admittance, Thom led her through a small, tunnel-like entry into a much larger anteroom, its walls lined with benches and hooks for hanging coats and wraps, high ceiling intricately carved with figures that in the near darkness she could not make out. Stray lights burned here and there, but mostly the room was draped in shadows. The thick smell of must and stale air filled her nostrils, and a chill had settled with a proprietary sense of entitlement.
Thom led and Mistaya followed. The wood floors creaked as they walked down the length of the room, which was twice as long as it was wide. A high desk, elevated on a platform to allow whoever manned it to look down on whoever sought admittance, ran across the far end of the room, effectively barring entry to whatever lay beyond a pair of massive wooden doors set in the wall behind. The desk was old and splintering at its joints, and there were spiders spinning their webs where space permitted. She assumed there were spiders elsewhere in the room, as well, in places she couldn’t clearly see. She looked down as they approached the desk and noticed faint clouds of
