In Shade and Shadow

Rodian turned to find il'Sänke standing just outside the keep's main doors. Stiff with anger, he stopped and waited.

The tall Suman seemed to float across the flagstones, the hem of his robe barely swishing with his steps. His expression was far too composed for the standoff that had just occurred, and Rodian's instincts cried out in warning.

'What?' he asked sharply.

'Wynn truly is not here. If you wish to stop her from interfering, I suggest you visit the scriptorium of Master a'Seatt. By her nature, I fear she may be looking into this matter on her own.'

Rodian paused, absorbing the words. 'Why would she do that?'

Il'Sänke shrugged, and his dark hands, fingers still laced before him, separated in a smooth gesture of empty palms.

'Who can say why another does anything? But I would hurry… if I were you.'

Gritting his teeth, Rodian turned and jogged into the gatehouse's long tunnel, shouting for his horse.

Wynn stood in the street outside the Upright Quill, the scribe shop of Master Pawl a'Seatt. An autumn breeze pulled strands of hair across her eyes. She had always liked this street and could see why Master a'Seatt would choose it for his place of business.

Lined with squares of red stone, worn by years of foot traffic and coastal weather, when wet with rain the cobble glistened like deep burgundy. All shops here bore brightly painted shutters and signs. Rather than a street for needs, it was a place for pleasant wishes.

Citizens could buy a variety of items within the span of a few blocks, from scented candles and ornate stands on which to place them to finely crafted teapots and serving sets. One little bookstore down the way did business in conjunction with the scribe shop, and she could smell aromatic oils sold by a perfumer across the street. Cardamom and lavender were so rich in the air she could almost taste them.

Wynn wished she were sixteen once again, that this were nothing more than another errand for Domin Tilswith. And that she possessed no knowledge of unnatural things that lunged from the dark.

There was still time to abandon her present course. She could return to the guild's warmth and the safety of her room. She could leave all of this to premins, domins, and the city guard.

Wynn took a deep breath and climbed the three steps to the scriptorium's door. A little bell tinkled as she cracked it open.

Amid the warmth inside, a hint of parchment dust tickled her nose, and by comparing the chill outside she realized how quickly autumn was passing. No one was present in the entry room, not even behind the old counter, with its two heavy doors to the shop's rear. A few wooden stands about the room held open books on display with ornate scripting as examples of the shop's work.

'Hello?' she called.

Wynn was trying to decide if she should sneak into the shop's back when the left door behind the counter swung outward.

A small, wizened man wearing round spectacles emerged, looking tired and strained. Startled by the sight of her, he closed the door and looked her up and down.

'Can I help you?' he asked.

His tone didn't suggest eagerness to assist, and Wynn mentally translated his words as, What do you want? Now that she was here, she hardly knew what to say.

'I'm from the guild…,' she began weakly.

He raised one eyebrow, as if to say, Obviously.

'I need to speak with someone… a scribe,' she added. 'A girl with dark brown hair, slightly frizzed and curled and—'

'Imaret?'

Wynn didn't know the name but she nodded. The old man's face softened with something close to sadness.

'Come,' he said, and opened the other door behind the counter. 'I'm Master Teagan. Imaret is working in back.'

Wynn had seen Imaret crying last night, which suggested the girl knew Jeremy or Elias. Sages in training occasionally made friends with working scribes, as such connections could be useful later. And it wasn't uncommon for apprentice scribes to seek schooling with the guild.

Master Teagan must have assumed Wynn was another companion come to offer condolences. He flipped open a hinged panel in the counter to let her through, and she suppressed a pang of guilt at her deception.

The scriptorium's rear was quite different from the front. The large back room was filled with tables and desks, chairs and tall stools. Bright lanterns stationed about the room provided ample light as scribes worked upon sheets amid scattered quills, blotting pads, and trimming knives. Shelves lined the back wall around the stout rear door with its iron bar. These were filled to the top with stacks of blank parchment, bottles of ink, jars of drying talc and sand, and other sundry supplies.

Only a few scribes sat at work, and Imaret was easy to pick out.

She sat at the room's far corner behind a short table suitable to her stature. That by itself showed she was an exception here, aside from her surprising age. What professional scriptorium would have such a young girl working as a scribe?

But Imaret wasn't scribing anything.

The bell over the door in the front room tinkled.

Imaret lowered her voice. 'He asked them to verify the folio's delivery, but after they'd been gone a short while he seemed… bothered. He kept pacing, and…'

Wynn waited, and Imaret glanced at the back door. 'And?' Wynn finally said.

'He kept looking at the back door, but he never opened it. Then he just stopped suddenly and stared at the wall.'

Imaret's gaze shifted, and Wynn glanced along the girl's line of sight. But she saw nothing except the back room's far wall beyond the end of the storage shelves.

'Then he grabbed his cloak and told me not to leave the shop.' Imaret trembled slightly. 'He rushed out the back… and didn't even stop to lock the door.'

'What's this all about?' Master Teagan sputtered.

Wynn straightened. She'd learned a thing or two about keeping up a lie from watching Leesil.

'Two of our people are dead, and the folio in their charge is missing. Domin High-Tower wishes to know the events beforehand.'

'Then why didn't he come himself?'

'We are in mourning, and he has greater matters to attend. I'm Journeyor Wynn Hygeorht.'

Teagan blinked, his pupils exaggerated by his thick-lensed glasses. And Wynn could tell he recognized her name.

Perhaps he knew she was the one responsible for the current wealth of scribe's work—and good payment. Domin High-Tower and Premin Sykion had warned her against speaking to anyone concerning what she'd brought back. But of course there were many at the guild who already knew she was the one who had caused so much «fuss» for the last half year.

Teagan's scraggly eyebrows wrinkled, but he finally grumbled off to check on the other scribes. Wynn turned her attention back to Imaret.

'So… Master a'Seatt became worried about the length of their absence and went after them?'

'Yes,' Imaret said, her eyes growing distant. 'I knew Jeremy and Elias had plans to meet up with… other friends. I thought they might deliver the folio and ignore Master a'Seatt's request for confirmation, so I decided to go after them. And I left the shop.'

Wynn sighed. Aside from Imaret disobeying her employer, a young girl shouldn't be wandering about alone at night.

'Then I heard a scream,' Imaret whispered. 'I didn't know where it came from until I heard footsteps… in the side street down the way.'

Imaret choked off, and Wynn put her hand gently on the girl's shoulder.