What was certain, though, was that the wayfarers of the ages had.. struggled here. They were frustrated, even troubled by some of the presences deeper within the library. They spoke in rhyme and a deliberate confusion of old tongues; these were codes which intrigued me, but in my darker moments I suspected that those who came to understand the books in the library descended into insanity. One wayfarer called Jorg repeated the word ‘Acheron’ several times in his final entry. I could not be certain, but I suspect I would be dealing with forces new to even me, and this caused me both vexation and excitement.
The dead — that is what the entries referred to. According to my own studies of the very oldest texts, Acheron is a river to, and of, the world of the dead. Many wayfarers talk of the dead under the city, the dead stirring beneath the library, at the very least. Was Villjamur constructed upon the souls of the dead? I have seen the dead walking during my travels to the city, however they were not sentient as these texts suggest. It has long been known that many of the great ancient ley lines all intersect here, but ley lines tell us nothing, and much of this history is truly unreliable.
Perhaps the ancient occultists were guiding people here, to this spot?
It is certain that the city needs exploring further, though where I hope to go maps will be of little use. I will head down, into the depths of the city. I could be gone many days.
Acheron.
TWENTY-TWO
Nestled into a private wooden booth at Bistro Juula, behind two giant potted ferns, Fulcrom and Lan stared at each other across the half-dozen tea-light candles. Fulcrom was in his finest woollen tunic, a dark green number with rural motifs in the stitching, an outer-cloak he’d been saving for as long as he could remember, and his boots were so clean he could see a reflection of himself in their gleam.
Lan, in a high-collared long black dress with ornate lace patterns around the hem, was an impressive presence. He wondered vaguely why she didn’t make more of her athletic figure, but he assumed she was still in the habit of concealing herself.
‘So should we be doing this?’ Fulcrom asked.
Lan shrugged. ‘We’re just discussing how to find Shalev, that’s all, while the boys entertain themselves with lower-level ladies.’
‘Right,’ Fulcrom replied, noting her emphasis on the word lower. ‘They’re not going to be out all night, I hope? I mean, they must know about the indoor iren opening tomorrow?’
‘Yes they do, stop being a control freak,’ Lan mocked. ‘Despite their bravado, they do take it all seriously, especially since your lecture to them.’
‘I know, I know.’ Fulcrom leaned back in his chair. ‘It’s just that it’s only you guys and the city guard there, and I don’t think they’re particularly good at looking after themselves let alone protecting the event from Cavesiders.’
‘You’re starting to sound like one of the characters from a MythMaker sketch.’
‘You read that rubbish?’ Fulcrom asked.
‘Sometimes, I do. You must admit they’re funny.’
‘I’ve never read one.’
‘Then how would you know if they’re rubbish?’
‘A valid point,’ Fulcrom confessed.
‘Besides, the children of the city seem to love it. I vaguely remember talk of them from years ago, but they went underground. There seem to be a lot of them about now though.’
‘So I’ve noticed,’ Fulcrom grumbled. ‘I guess children need their heroes?’
‘Even adults,’ Lan remarked. ‘So it appears, at least.’
Fulcrom made a vague wave of his hands. ‘These are uncertain times,’ he said. ‘What with the ice age really settling in, the reports of genocide, and the war that’s going on in Villiren, people need to believe in something. That the Knights exist gives them deep comfort. It gives them a focus. Did you know, people even stop us investigators on the street to tell us how appreciative they are of you.’
Lan gave a cute smile, and there was something about her manner that said here was affirmation that she was doing more than just fighting crime, that she was happy to be a symbol.
*
Fulcrom came from a long line of extroverts, and found being around others to be hugely comforting. He could absorb their energy, enjoyed observing their quirks and mannerisms and making huge generalizations about their lives. Throughout his childhood, his mother and his father would constantly guffaw across the dinner table, make jokes with pats on backs and discussions of the day. They were a tight-knit and outrageous bunch, Bohr rest their souls. And it made sitting across from Lan all the more interesting, because clearly she had spent much of her life trying not to say anything — doubly interesting, because he noted how with him, she was the one initiating conversations, prodding him on his past and his tastes. She laughed when he spoke of things he knew weren’t that funny.
If he read people as well as he thought he could, these were encouraging signs.
But Fulcrom also felt uneasy for any number of reasons. Of course there was his private knowledge of Lan: she used to be anatomically male, and no matter how liberal and open-minded Fulcrom considered himself, no matter how good the cultists had been, that thought existed. A lot of it was new to him, too — he had studied as best he could to understand notions of what made someone a man or a woman or one of the shades in between; he tried to understand how someone’s gender and sex could be different, but found such matters to be amazingly complex. Could a person be so different from the one they were a year ago? Perhaps it was the investigator in him, but all he had were questions.
‘You’re thinking about the issue, aren’t you?’ Lan asked.
‘Not at all, no.’
The waitress brought over some soup and spiced bread, then left them alone again. Lan held her hair back with one hand as she leant over the dish. Whenever she looked up at him, something resolute inside him melted. He’d been shutting out such feelings for so long he didn’t know what to think any more.
‘Aren’t you going to eat?’ she asked. ‘I don’t want to look like some starved pig compared to you.’
Fulcrom didn’t need telling twice, and tucked into the soup, letting the intense flavours of garlic and cumin spill over his tongue. A band started up, violins and drums playing old folk numbers, loud enough to be heard but not enough to ruin the moment.
In between mouthfuls Lan opened up. ‘You know, it’s pretty good being a Knight.’
‘Finally adjusted to the life then? I knew you would.’
‘You know everything, don’t you?’
‘No, but it’s my job to at least try to know everything.’
Her raised eyebrow indicated she’d registered he wasn’t being serious. ‘Yes, it’s good. For the first time I’ve found a niche for myself. I’m glad I was taken — not how I was taken, but that I’ve been allowed to be something useful. To make a contribution to the world. One thing I’ve learned is that it’s very difficult being a woman in this world.’
‘I think I know what you mean.’
‘You don’t know until you’re actually a woman,’ Lan said.
He was surprised at how matter-of-fact she was about the hidden suggestions of her transformations. He’d assumed she’d never want to mention it.
She continued, speaking earnestly and with passion. ‘There are too few ways in which a woman from low birth can have an impact in society. There are next to none in the Council, few of them are landowners outright unless by marriage. Few of us have access to power. You know the other day when we were doing an appearance on behalf of the Emperor, afterwards a little girl trotted up to me in a makeshift black uniform. She was like a miniature version of me, and she told me that one day she wanted to grow up to be just like me. It was amazing. I was a role model for a young girl. I can never remember there being many female role models — apart from the Empress, and look what happened to her.’
