and order into him. Still numb with horror at his uncharacteristic acts of the night before, the mage began to tidy up the room in an almost fanatical manner.
Grimm shook down his clothes, brushed them and put them, neatly folded, in the large chest-of-drawers provided for the purpose. He took care to clean the spills and stains from the walls and carpet, replaced fallen bottles on their appointed shelves, righted a toppled table and made his bed.
After half an hour's frenzied effort, the Questor felt satisfied that the chamber was in its original, pristine state, whereupon he turned his attention to his own appearance and hygiene. Feeling clean and whole once more, Grimm took a frugal breakfast from the splendid array of food provided, now feeling ready to face the new day.
He mused on the events of the previous evening, and on Dalquist's comment that he was making a damned fool of himself over Madeleine. The girl was very attractive, and Grimm certainly felt very flattered at her attentions, but he had to admit that his reactions had been extreme, to say the least.
The way I turned on Dalquist was unforgivable, he thought, his entrails churning with unease. I wouldn't blame him if he never talked to me again. I've got to apologise to him and try to make amends.
A door connected the two mages' rooms, and Grimm strode towards it with a resolute tread, his firm knock being answered with a cheerful 'Come in, Grimm' from the older mage.
Drawing a deep breath, he opened the door into a room that was the mirror image of his own and saw that Dalquist was taking a hearty breakfast. Grimm knew how the Questor appreciated good sustenance, and his friend seemed to be making the most of the high life while it lasted. He felt a flush of relief that Dalquist did not seem to harbour any resentment over Grimm's earlier show of disrespect.
'Good morning, Grimm. I trust you enjoyed yourself last night?'
'Very much, Dalquist,' Grimm replied, nodding. 'Madeleine is a lovely girl, and I feel very privileged to have made her acquaintance. I just wanted to apologise humbly for the way I spoke to you last night. I had no right to sound off at you the way I did; you are senior to me, and I know also that you only have my best interests at heart.'
Dalquist, his mouth full, waved airily at a seat, which Grimm took. After the senior Questor finished his mouthful of food, he wiped his mouth and beard with a silk napkin and turned to face his young colleague.
'Well, Grimm, I was taken aback by the way you treated me, and I wouldn't recommend you to repeat it; it's a bad habit to get into, especially with senior mages. On the other hand, I thought afterwards about what you had said and I had to admit that my own behaviour lacked a little… no, no, Grimm, please hear me out!
'We both know that intimate relations between a mage and a woman can destroy the magic-user's powers. I didn't want you to take that awful risk. You are, of course, still indebted to the House. Nonetheless, as I think of it now, nothing could have been more innocent. A Questor and a nun, holding hands and dancing; what could be less sinister than that? I ought to know you well enough by now to know that you would never let things go too far.'
Grimm felt surprised at Dalquist's rapid volte-face. Although his friend seemed to have calmed down a little from the night before, the young mage had the impression that Dalquist was only trying to heal an incipient rift in their relationship. He also remembered his behaviour on the previous night; his carefree cavorting and his desire for Madeleine. He was not as sure as Dalquist that he would be able to prevent 'things going too far', should the opportunity ever present itself. Grimm made a determined pledge that, this evening, he would act in a more circumspect manner, as befitted a Mage Questor of the Fifth Rank.
'Are you going to see Madeleine tonight, Grimm?' Dalquist asked, smiling.
'This afternoon,' Grimm corrected, 'She said that today she would be allowed to wear Secular clothes. It will be nice to see her in something a little less formal than a nun's habit; I'm looking forward to it.'
Dalquist grinned. 'I can't blame you there, Grimm. She's a comely lass, and a habit is scarcely flattering attire for such a pretty girl. Enjoy yourself, my friend, with my blessing. What will you do to pass the hours until then, other than counting the minutes?'
Grimm returned the smile with warmth. 'I thought I'd do a little research, Dalquist. A place like this should have a splendid library.'
Dalquist nodded, gulping down another mouthful of food like a famished man. 'Good man. We mages are always learning. Perhaps I'll see you later?'
'Perhaps you will, Dalquist. On the other hand, you know what I'm like with books. I hardly notice the passage of time.'
The older man wagged his finger in a mock warning gesture. 'Just you make sure that you meet that girl up this afternoon, Afelnor, or you'll be feeling the weight of Shakhmat resting none too gently on your head!'
'I'll be there, Mother Hen.' Grimm laughed. 'I'll be there, don't you worry.'
Grimm tried thinking 'Library' and consulting his borrowed Gem of Location, but the charm just flashed at him, which, he understood, meant that there was more than one place with that appellation. He tried 'Senior Doorkeeper', and found that the stone worked on people as well as locations.
After following a winding trail, he found the tall, regal-looking man in one of the winding, identical corridors of the Lodge. The Senior Doorkeeper swivelled smoothly around at his approach, as if he were on well-oiled, silent castors.
'How may I help you, Questor Grimm?' The dark man's tone was cool, doubtless as a result of his altercation with Dalquist the day before.
'I wish to carry out some research, Senior Doorkeeper,' Grimm replied in a civil manner, 'and it seems you have more than one library here. Would you be so kind as to direct me to the most appropriate one for my purposes?'
The tall man sniffed. 'We have five libraries, Questor Grimm, covering Civil Law, Thaumaturgic Research, Guild History, Biology and Technology,' the Senior Doorkeeper said, with a trace of pride.
'You have a library of Technology?' Grimm felt stunned. In Arnor House at least, this discipline was regarded with suspicion, if not with outrage.
'It is necessary on occasion to study an enemy's ways, so as to understand him better, Questor. We of High Lodge are not as hidebound as the incumbents of certain provincial Houses.' This was almost a direct insult, and Grimm swallowed a sharp retort.
'Thank you for your kind assistance, Senior Doorkeeper. I think I can find my own way from here.' He gave the man a curt nod and turned on his heel, a gesture whose impact was lessened by the fact that Grimm almost tripped over Redeemer in the process. He could almost feel the Senior Doorkeeper's superior, smug smile burning into his back as he walked away, and he knew that his own face and aura were red.
The phrase 'Library-Guild History' evoked an immediate, decisive response from the gem, which shone a clear green path before him. In fifteen minutes, he had reached his goal. A simple door led into a vast complex of shelves and racks, regimented and rectilinear. This library was three times the size of Grimm's comfortable old haunt in the Arnor Scholasticate, but it was too cold and clinical for Grimm's taste. How would he ever find anything in this monstrous place?
He saw a wide, semicircular desk a few yards inside the door, at which sat a grizzled old mage dressed in simple dark-grey robes. The man sat leafing through sheaves of paper, muttering and clicking to himself like some fleshy millrace capable of grinding facts and figures into intellectual flour.
Grimm waited while the aged mage hummed and ticked his way through several sheets of paper, and then essayed a soft 'Excuse me.' The mage's head popped up with a sudden jerk, like that of a clockwork bird.
'Yes, may I help you?' The man's delivery was rapid, monotonous and staccato, again as if he were some machine made flesh. 'Scholar Grell Librarian of this establishment what would you like to see?'
'Do you have any old copies of standard Guild reference works I could peruse?' Grimm asked, forcing himself not to copy Grell's rapid-fire pattern of speech.
'Selections date back nearly three hundred years which category please?'
