He leapt back with a start.
Curious, Wes took a close look at the bookshelf. He glimpsed straight cracks in the stone wall behind it. A secret doorway leading… where?
'Well,' he thought aloud, 'I need a break from cleaning. I'll just see what's behind the door, and then get back to it.'
He closed the reading room door, and then put his shoulder to the bookshelf and began to push. The shelf moved reluctantly at first, as though the door hadn't been opened for a long time. Wes pushed it far enough to squeeze through. Once inside, he blinked, finding himself in a small room lined with shelves. The shelves were stacked with books, scrolls, and more than a few piles of loose sheets.
Wes was very careful not to disturb those.
A wedge of light from the reading room illuminated a small reading desk and a solid oak chair, together in the center of the room. There was also a soft glow throughout the room, some sort of magical light.
His cleaning tasks quickly forgotten, Wes glanced gleefully around the room, plucking up the courage to pick something up and read it…
Wishing You Many More
From the port of Luthcheq on the Bay of Chessenta
Greetings Grand Conjurer Torreb, and a fine birthday to you!
I cannot believe my fortune! To think that I should hear of you, fellow student, and upon your birthing day, too! It's me, Fannol Pavish from the Academy. I was 2nd initiate to your 1st. It has been so long ago, and after your injustice, we never kept in touch. In fact, I fear you may have forgotten me. I know that I, busy as I am, barely have time to relish the memories of those days. I am sure you, who were always so energetic and ambitious, can scarce find the time for idle reminiscing, especially on what must be such an unhappy topic.
I remember how you chafed at our theorizing, always wanting to do something with your spells. Just remember, I was the one doused by that stink potion Chow-warth got when he tried to make sweetwater in the Alchemiologicia. I'm sure you remember puffy little Chowwarth.
But, I haven't explained by what subtle machinations I suddenly came into possession of your whereabouts. It was pure Fate (blessed be the gods) that brought your name and place to me. I had just arrived here in Luthcheq-I'm on my way to Corsk near the border, so post any reply there-and took it in my head to go see Timrik, who's got a post out here. (At the Academy, he was the gnome one rank back, studying to be an artificer, remember?) He had news of how you had put down some dragon that was raiding farms in the mountains, was it? The gods only know how he got your name, but your adventure sounds quite dashing from what he told me. You must write and tell me about the entire thing. I burn for some excitement. Anyway, he gave me the name of the inn you were staying at, so I seized the opportunity to write you.
Imagine, you a dragon killer! My own life seems horribly dull in comparison. I'm off to Governor Hamid's court, where I'll be the provincial magister. After you left the Academy, I had to bear the burden of being 1st initiate, and I learned why you were always so studious and solemn. I persevered through it all, though, and managed to pass with not-too stinging words from the dean magisters. That spurred me enough that after the Academy I studied for the ministerial exam and managed to place right over all the minor posts and start directly at the Learned rank.
Well, it sounds like bragging, but what it really means is that I was assigned to something dreadfully dull and safe-assistant under secretary to the privy council's secretary of arcanum. I spent half my days in musty scrolls, reading arcane lore, and the other half explaining what I'd learned to puddle-wits who couldn't tell a flux contagious from a similarity-much less care. Thank Fortune my pleas for transfer were finally heeded, or I would have gone rather cracked like the Academy's old librarian, Avarle, clucking around my dusty shelves. Even so, it's not like I'll be out there chucking spells at dragons like you, eh?
I think Fate gave me your whereabouts for another reason, too. I've been doing some research, and you could be a great help to me. While I was digging through the Arcanum's libraries, I came across one fascinating bit in all those dusty scrolls. Do you remember that epic, the Duel of Tromdarl and Greenwinter-the one Master Feurgond droned on about in Philosophic Lore? Well, I actually found some letters that I'm sure are the great artificer Greenwinter's very own. They are full of references to what I'm guessing was his last researched creation.
You know the tale-in jealousy, Greenwinter binds his spirit to a mighty rod of godly fire and uses it to destroy his rival, Tomdarl. The whole thing ends with Greenwinter and his rod going off and never being seen again, which is the only proper way for a story like that to end.
I'm sure if I can get all the pieces put together, I'll be able to find the artifact of the tale. Imagine the fuss there'd be if someone registered that in the imperial arcanum!
Unfortunately, Greenwinter came from the mountains, and there certainly aren't any mountains around Corsk. From the clues I've gathered, I'm certain he hailed from your territory. What I was wondering was if you'd ever heard of something called the 'snake-bound pattern.' It is an important clue to finding the device-a map maybe. I haven't any information what it really looks like.
Oh, dear, I almost forgot. You must give my greetings to your wife, Lady Marriana. Of course she is as beautiful and graceful as when we both courted her. I am still jealous (and a little crestfallen) that you wooed her so well. As hard as I tried, you still won her hand. What wizardly charms did you use on her?
I should ask also how you are. You must tell me what you have been doing since the Academy days. Living out there in the wilderness must be a constant adventure. I can imagine all sorts of horrid deaths and daring escapades. From the way Timrik described things, you're quite respected in your village or town or whatever. How do you withstand the boredom?
Now of course, I am being coy. Since this should reach you on your birthing day, you're also holding a package from me. It's a present. I did not want to send just anything. No one needs another wool scarf or gilt wand case. Instead, I have a real surprise for you. I researched it myself, and I know you will enjoy it.
Farewell, for now. I'm relieved to hear you have overcome all the obstacles of the past and that something good has come of all that bitterness.
Your old Academy fellow,
Perfect and Absolute Magister of Corsk, Pavish
P.S. Like the title? I've hardly gotten to use it yet, so forgive my little vanity.
Posted from Tyn's Rock Inn
Greetings Magister Pavish (or should I address you Perfect and Absolute Magister Pavish?),
I confess I had no intention of replying, so you can thank Marriana for this consideration. She will not abide my rudeness.
I am sure you can imagine my surprise upon receiving your birthday wishes. I have gone to some trouble to avoid all ties to my previous Academy life, so your note was most unexpected. I do not even know how Timrik knew my whereabouts, though I am less than pleased for it-yes, I remember him perfectly. I remember everything from those days quite clearly-though I no longer wish to remember them.
Timrik's information was a bit dated. By the time your package arrived, I had moved on. Travel is both a necessity and a habit in my life. It was only by chance that I came back through Tyn's Rock. The landlord is a honest fellow and held it for me in hopes I would return.
Accept my obligatory congratulations on your posting. I must say I am amused. You were adamant about not entering politics behind your esteemed father and were set upon being an adventurer. I suppose now that you may have earned your position on your own merits, a political career holds more interest. Minister Pavish must be proud of his son. It is interesting how our lives change.
One thing, though, has not changed-your dramatic sense. The fire sparkle dust you sent was ingenious. Fire sparkles indeed! Unfortunately, there was a slight accident. The inn's spit-boy prevailed on me to let him toss a
