He winced again. Maybe he should have kept his lips shut. “No, er, not intentionally. I was just noting that… uhm…research, you say?”
“Indeed, so. I need to find the map for the area.” She eased past his table and started rifling through oversized scrolls, some frayed from time’s passing.
Books tried to concentrate on his own work, though he wished he could say something that would engage her in a conversation and make her forget his bumbling tongue.
A few moments later, she turned and eyed the papers before him. “Do you have the map for Irator’s Tooth Valley?”
“Ah.” He shuffled through scrolls. “Yes.”
She slipped into the seat next to him. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Not at all,” he mumbled, noticing she wore a pleasant perfume that smelled of spring wildflowers. The part of his mind able to think of other things wondered if it was coincidence that had her researching in the same part of the library as he was, or…not.
“Here we are.” She spread the map and traced the boundaries of a miles-wide swath of land stretching through a valley that lay in the midst of one of the passes across the mountains. The northern one, which lay near Mangdorian territory.
While she pulled a small notepad out, Books leaned closer to the map. His gut lurched. The lot number he had been hunting all over for was written in the center of a chunk of land adjacent to the property holding her interest. The plat map did not show contour lines, but from its proximity to the river and the limestone makeup of those mountains, he guessed it a rocky hillside.
“Do you know who owns that lot?” he asked before he could think better of it.
As soon as she turned narrowed eyes his way, he knew he should have said nothing. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m, ah, looking at properties I might be able to afford for retirement. A little cabin in the mountains sounds nice, don’t you think?” He hoped that tale did not sound as woefully fabricated to her as it did to him. Maybe adding flattery would improve it. “And a spot with a pretty neighbor would be nice.”
“I live in the city and am only able to visit my parents a couple of times a year. Also, you’re a little young to be thinking of retirement, aren’t you?”
He sat taller. “You think I look young?”
“Yes, that’s the sort of complimentary thing you’re supposed to say when talking to someone with gray in his-or her -hair.” She appeared more amused than offended. Good.
“Sorry, I’ve been told I don’t have the smoothest tongue. My name is…Marl. Well, Books these days. Yes, call me Books.”
“Vonsha,” she said.
He wanted to chat and find out more about this unlikely coincidence, but he feared he would give her more information than he received himself. Maybe he should simply find out where she lived and have Amaranthe visit. Of course, even that might prove difficult if he couldn’t unearth some charm.
He steeled himself with a deep breath. He had to try.
“Would you like to have hot cider later?” he blurted, then winced. That was hardly charming.
A rustle came from an aisle behind Books. He glanced back but did not spot anybody. Night had fallen outside the library’s windows, and the deep shadows between the lights on the outer wall could have hidden… much. Only the lamp on the desk illuminated the area around Books and Vonsha. For a moment, he thought it might be Sicarius, but Sicarius did not rustle.
“Something wrong?” Vonsha asked.
“Thought I heard something.”
“It’s a public library,” she said, though she glanced down the back aisle too. “Other people could be here this late.”
“Could be.”
Though he figured regular patrons would walk normally, with their footsteps thudding on the tile floor, not sneak about without making an appearance. He wondered if Sicarius remained in the building, monitoring, or if he had left, knowing Basilard would arrive soon.
Books slipped his hand beneath his jacket and touched the hilt of his dagger for reassurance.
“…back here?” someone whispered.
“…the light.”
Vonsha’s eyes widened. Books held a finger to his lips and pushed his chair back silently. He folded the Irator’s Tooth Valley map and another of the surrounding mountains, then slipped both into his satchel. Vonsha opened her mouth, as if she might object, but a scuffle in a nearby aisle stopped her.
Books backed away from the table, crooking his finger for her to follow. After a brief hesitation, she eased out of her chair. The back of it bumped against a bookshelf.
“You hear something?” one of the voices whispered.
“This way.”
Hesitation gone, Vonsha rushed to join Books in the shadows. He drew her back into an aisle in the opposite direction from the voices and found a spot where they could peer over the tops of books between shelves and glimpse the table.
A man with a scruffy beard and scruffier clothing shambled into view. Bulges beneath his coat at waist-level may have represented weapons. He eyed the table, glanced around, then shuffled back the way he had come.
“Homeless?” Vonsha whispered.
“What would a homeless man hope to find in the real estate library?” Books whispered back.
“Maybe he’s looking for retirement property in the mountains.”
The shadows hid her face, but Books had no trouble deciphering the teasing in regards to his weak cover story.
“I sense you’re a sharp lady,” he said.
“I teach young people. When it comes to lies, I’ve developed a knack for shifting through people’s slag piles to find the nuggets of ore.”
“You teach?” Delight at finding a kindred soul infused his tone, and he had to force himself to lower his voice. After all, they were being stalked by someone. “I taught history for more than fifteen years at Bartok,” he whispered. “Do you-”
A clatter stilled his tongue. An unmarked tin can had landed on the table. It rolled toward the edge, a lit fuse sticking out of one end.
“Back, back!” Books grabbed Vonsha and pulled her down the aisle.
An explosion roared. Wood shattered, and shelves toppled into aisles, hurling their contents. Something sharp struck Books’s temple, and heavy tomes pelted him from all sides. The book cases framing his aisle wobbled and tilted inward, cracking together. He ducked. They met over his head, forming an A. Certain one would collapse, burying Vonsha and him beneath it, Books hustled faster. Still pulling her, he lunged out of the aisle and planted a hand on the brick wall at the end.
She slumped into his arms.
“Vonsha?” he asked.
Blood saturated the front of her shirt and dripped from a shard of wood embedded in her neck. Closer to her collarbone than her throat, it did not appear to have hit the jugular, but he hesitated to pull it out, fearing that would make the injury worse.
Light-no, flames-grew behind them. Fire.
The light revealed movement, someone stepping out of an aisle farther down the wall. The figure, a young man in ill-fitting clothing, lifted a crossbow and aimed for Books’s chest.
“Sicarius!” Books blurted. “Would you take care of this bloke?”
The crossbowman spun to look behind him. Too bad Sicarius was not truly there.
Unable to move quickly or draw his knife without dropping Vonsha, Books shuffled toward the aisle they had exited, hoping his ruse would buy them time. The shelves chose that second to collapse, barring the route.
Even with wood crackling nearby, Books heard the twang of the crossbow bolt firing. He ducked his head,
