A council meeting with the King and Sabriel meant official business. Lirael turned back from the door to see the Sendings had already thought this through. One was holding up her armored coat, the other the surcoat that would go over it.
“Not the surcoat,” said Lirael thoughtfully. “Not today, thank you. My new librarian’s waistcoat over the armor.”
The librarians would like to see her wearing it, she thought. It was quite snug over the hauberk, but all the waistcoats were made to be worn over other clothes, and be loose enough to allow for the general librarian habit of shoving all sorts of things into pockets. Lirael checked them at this thought, feeling weight on both sides. The clockwork mouse was in the large left-hand pocket, but she was surprised to find a book in the right-hand side and then not surprised, when she took it out and it grew in her hand, a book bound in deep blue leather with silver clasps. The title of the book was embossed in silver on the spine.
The Book of Remembrance and Forgetting.
Like its close cousin, The Book of the Dead, the binding of this tome swarmed with Charter marks, marks of binding and closing, burning and destruction, to ensure only certain readers could even open the book, let alone read it. There was Free Magic inside, constrained and locked by boards, leather binding, glue, and stitches that were themselves as much creations of Charter Magic as any mundane process.
Lirael had left this book in her rooms in the palace at Belisaere, but it tended to show up wherever and whenever it would be needed. She had read it several times, but again like The Book of the Dead, the contents changed with each reading according to need, or the phase of the moon, or perhaps even the weather. In the Library there was a whole section devoted to attempted indices and concordances for such books, but they were never complete, and Lirael had never found even an attempted one for this particular book.
She slipped it back into the pocket. Though it was twice as wide it went in easily, shrinking on the way. Lirael felt something else there as she slipped it in place, but she knew what it would be now that the book had appeared, though like it she had left this item back in Belisaere. A small metal case that someone from Ancelstierre would presume held cigarettes, or perhaps a powder compact. But it too was a Charter Magic container or binding for the Free Magic artifact that lay inside, a double-sided mirror, one side bright reflective silver, the other . . . a rectangle of nothing, of absolute darkness.
With the Dark Mirror, combined with the knowledge contained in The Book of Remembrance and Forgetting, she could go into Death and look into the past.
The appearance of the book and the mirror meant she was probably going to have to do just that, but Lirael put it out of her mind for the moment. It was not something she wanted to do, but neither was it something she totally dreaded or feared. She just didn’t want to dwell on it, not least because the farther a Remembrancer needed to look back in time, the deeper they had to go in Death. The last time Lirael had used the Dark Mirror she had been very deep in Death indeed, on the edge of the Ninth Gate itself. She hoped she would never need to look so far back again, and doubted she ever would, for then she had needed to see something from the very Beginning, all the way back to the first breaking and binding of the Destroyer.
A Sending handed her the new sword, Raminah, in her black-and-silver sheath, already fastened to a baldric of the same dark leather with silver buckles. She slipped it over her shoulder and settled the sword at her side. It felt very companionable there. For a moment Lirael considered donning the bells as well, but there would be no need for them within the Glacier. She left them on the shelf, and went out.
She heard Nick before she saw him. All the doors along the hallway were open; his voice was coming from the reception room with the long window that looked out beyond the glacier, to the valley below. Lirael hesitated for a moment several steps short of the door, unsure of how to behave, or what to do. The intimate feeling she had of sharing a secret world with Nick from the past evening was gone now, and she had a terrible fear he would repudiate whatever had happened.
Lirael shut her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength, at the same time wondering why she needed to do so. If it was a Free Magic creature in there, or some terrible Dead revenant, she would not hesitate so, but would be straight in to deal with it.
Nick was talking to someone. Vancelle, answering now. Something about the Charter, but then Lirael heard her own name, so before anything else was said, either complimentary or detrimental, she forced herself to stride into the room with a cheery “Good morning” that sounded false even to herself.
“Almost good afternoon,” said Vancelle. “But I do not criticize. You were very weary. And Sanar told me she visited you in the early hours to dissuade a sudden departure to Yellowsands.”
“Yes,” said Lirael, but she was looking at Nick. Fortunately, he was looking at her, and there was something in his eyes and face, a special light that told her he was not going to repudiate anything that happened the night before, but indeed wished to repeat the experience, and more. Lirael had caught glimpses of such looks before, between other people, and felt both their power and her uneasiness at being an onlooker to such a private, unspoken communication. She had never shared in such a look before.
“Good morning,” said Nick. He smiled and Lirael smiled back. Their secret, shared world had once again been conjured between them, coexisting with the far more mundane reality around them.
“Nicholas is proving to be a very interesting, if temporary, addition to the Library,” said Vancelle, as always calm and somewhat remote. Though she could not have failed to see how Lirael and Nick looked at each other, she did not remark on it in any way, or show she noticed. “I have found some reading which may prove useful. I think you should also speak to both Sabriel and Sameth, because there are parallels with the Abhorsen’s bells, in that they are Free Magic powers constrained or guided by Charter Magic. Deputy Harquell would also be helpful, I think, given her long study of books that have two such natures.”
“I helped Vancelle cast two spells, and stopped . . . I mean quenched . . . another,” said Nick excitedly. He came forward and took Lirael’s hands. Neither of them noticed that Lirael’s golden hand immediately glowed brighter, and small Charter marks began to fall from her fingers, like a mist of tiny gold and silver rain. “So even if I can’t cast Charter spells myself, I can help others. I could help you.”
“To be fair, you must also remember your several failures,” said Vancelle. “With little, safe spells, so no harm done. There would be considerable danger to yourself and to others if you test yourself against anything more significant before you have had a great deal more practice. For example, right now you had best let go of Lirael’s hand.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Nick. He hesitated for a moment, then released only Lirael’s golden hand, keeping her left hand tight in his right and moving to stand next to her. It was a very public statement of how he felt. Lirael edged slightly closer to him, accentuating this from her point of view as well.
Vancelle smiled, something Lirael had never seen before. She was not sure she liked it, and was quite relieved when the Librarian’s face settled back into its normal serene detachment.
“Now, I believe all of us have to join the King’s council very soon,” said Vancelle. “It may go on for some time, Lirael, so I would suggest breakfast before you come down to the Map Room. Good morning to both of you.”
As soon as she left, Lirael and Nick were kissing again, twined together near the window. Only a flash of light from the high noon sun recalled Lirael to the time. She reluctantly pulled herself away and they just held each other, Lirael careful not to touch Nick with her golden hand.
“I’ll have to work out how to get on with those spells,” said Nick, tilting his head toward her right hand.
“I’m sure you will,” said Lirael. “But we do have the King’s council to get to, and I need to eat something before we go. I don’t want to pass out in front of Touchs
tone and Sabriel.”
“Sabriel?” asked Nick anxiously. “She always scared me when she visited Sam at school. I mean, his father does a bit as well. Only not so much. If you know what I mean. Do you think they’ll be okay with me coming to the Old Kingdom . . . and . . . to be with you?”
“What does okay mean?” asked Lirael.
“Um, it means ‘all right,’” said Nick. “Will they be all right with me being here, and with you? They won’t send me back?”
“No,” said Lirael decisively. “No. I’m sure they wouldn’t, but even if they did, I wouldn’t let them.”
Nick kissed her again, quickly.
“You are a fierce librarian, aren’t you?” he said admiringly. “I like the waistcoat.”
“And you admit everything you knew and said about librarians before was completely and utterly stupid?” asked Lirael, kissing him back.
“Yes and yes,” said Nick, when they had to break free to breathe a little. “Um, am I really supposed to come to this council?”
Lirael nodded, and reluctantly pushed him away.
“Yes,” she said. “They will want to know about the Hrule and everything, your powers . . . hmm . . . come to think about it, there is a Charter Stone in the Map Room. I hope that’s going to be . . . what did you call it . . . okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” asked Nick.
Quickly, Lirael told him what had happened when they crossed the Wall. Nick listened intently, his forehead creased with both concern and thought. He looked so much better, thought Lirael. The healing spells had brought back his natural color, but it was more than that. He seemed so incredibly alive now, so full of excitement and joy.
“I can tell when whatever is inside me wants to . . . to join with Charter Magic,” said Nick. “And I can let it go, or force it back. I’m getting better at it all the time. So even with a Charter Stone, if I’m conscious and trying to control the reaction . . . it should be all right.”
“There will be many very experienced Charter Mages there, in any case,” said Lirael. “I mean, besides the King and Sabriel, Vancelle, Sanar and Ryelle I expect, perhaps Mirelle and some of the other senior office holders.”
“Am I dressed appropriately?” asked Nick. He was wearing a dark blue tunic the same color as Lirael’s waistcoat, without the silver keys, trousers of a similar color, and doeskin shoes that buttoned up at the sides with blue buttons. “Do I need a sword?”
“You can have my old one, from Belisaere,” said Lirael. She thought for a second. “Though it is Charter-spelled.”
“I could practice with it while you have some breakfast,” said Nick eagerly. “It’s by the front door, isn’t it? I’ll get it; meet you in the dining room!”
He whirled out the door, leaving Lirael reaching at air to hold him back for one more kiss. She smiled and shrugged, and was just about to follow him when she noticed something on the floor, its snout pressed up against the window.
Her little dog statuette.
Lirael picked it up, feeling the familiar soapstone, and looked around. How had it gotten there? Two Sendings stood in the corners of the room, behind the long leather lounge that was arranged for comfortable viewing.
“How did this get here?” asked Lirael. But neither Sending answered in any way. Lirael looked at the little dog again, then out the window. It was a clear day, and she could see the Ratterlin, a long line of brilliant blue shot with bright reflections. A small boat was sailing up the river, doubtless going to the Clayr’s dock, for it was well past anywhere else it might land. It was not an easy task against the current, and the spring flood; the way the boat moved suggested magical assistance.
There was nothing else of note to see.
Lirael frowned again, tucked the statuette into one of the upper pockets of her waistcoat, and went to see about what would need to be a very hasty breakfast.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
THE COUNCIL OF TOUCHSTONE
Clayr’s Glacier, Old Kingdom
The Map Room was a vast domed chamber, the ceiling of the dome decorated with a mosaic that incorporated a great deal of Charter Magic, so that each tile had many different iterations of design and color. The whole thing was a map of the Old Kingdom, from the far northwest to the southeast waters by the Wall, but it hardly ever displayed all at once. Rather, the ceiling would show the detail of a town, or a mountain range, or a nautical map with soundings of some part of the Sea of Saere. As it had been made perhaps a thousand years ago, sometimes it showed towns or villages that no longer existed, a forest long since cleared, or curious details that could not easily be understood by the Clayr of the current times.
Apart from this vast, changing map on the ceiling, the Map Room did not seem to contain any maps. Right in the center, under the top of the dome some eighty paces above, there was a round table of great antiquity. Made of a deep red wood become almost black with age and centuries of polish, it was thirty paces in diameter and could seat forty around it in its companion chairs, made of the same timber, though many had been repaired here and there and the upholstery was fresh and new, the eleventh time the dark green cloth had been replaced.
The table had a hole cut in its center, for here a Charter Stone rose up from the paved floor—not a grey stone, as was usual, but an obelisk of black basalt. Its surface roiled as normal with Charter marks, which rose to the surface to flash gold or more rarely silver and then sank beneath or, even more rarely, left the stone to rise to the mosaic map overhead.
Apart from the central table, there were a dozen desks lined up in rows of three at the northern end, but they had no maps laid upon them either. Unlike the usual green leather surfaces found elsewhere in the Library, these desks were topped with clean white marble.
At the southern end, perhaps a third of the Map Room was taken up with many curious long racks, each as tall as two Clayr. The racks held thousands of suspended ribbons, each ribbon imprinted with two letters and four numerals in some sort of code. From each ribbon there hung an ivory cube, redolent with Charter marks.
Lirael was used to this, and simply strode in through the main doors of beaten bronze, which had been pushed fully open on this occasion; normally the librarians used a much smaller ordinary door to the left. But Nick stopped on the threshold, staring up at the ceiling and then around the vast room. As they were holding hands, Lirael was jerked back; she trod on Nick’s foot and he said, “Ouch!”
Everyone looked at them, from where they were gathered in a crowd around one of the desks. The King, Sabriel, Ferin on her crutches, Vancelle, Sanar and Ryelle, Mirelle, the Infirmarian, and half a dozen other very important Clayr. Beyond this inner circle were more than twenty more seers of less exalted rank, there as note-takers, attendants, and messengers. Clayr from the Mews, the Rangers, the Library, the Observatory, the Storerooms . . .
“Hello,” called out Lirael, her voice echoing under the dome. She was a bit out of breath since they had run the last few hundred steps down the Second Back Stairs. Hand in hand. Remembering this, she gently let go, as did Nick, though their hands stayed close together. “Sorry we’re late.”
She didn’t mention why they were late. Nick had been rather too optimistic about how he would interact with Lirael’s Charter-spelled sword, and the blade had erupted into actual flames before Lirael could quell it, but not before the hilt had grown so hot Nick had to drop it. There was a sword-shaped scorch mark on one of the carpets in the Abhorsen’s Rooms now.
However, Nick was wearing a sword now, the majordomo Sending having brought him one of ordinary steel, without any magic, just as they were leaving. This reminded Lirael that she had yet to properly explore all the Abhorsen’s Rooms, because there had to be an armory there, as well as the wine cellar Imshi had mentioned. Explaining the carpet burn to Sabriel would have to come first. Lirael hoped her sister’s general lack of interest in furniture and haberdashery would also apply to ancient Abhorsen carpets. . . .
They hurried over to th
e central group by the desk.
“Do I bow or go on one knee or anything?” whispered Nick as they gave the central Charter Stone and the round table a wide berth to approach the King and Sabriel, the lesser Clayr quietly moving aside to create an alley for them.
“No,” said Lirael. “They don’t go for much ceremony, except on special occasions.”
Sabriel came forward and removed Nick’s doubts by taking Lirael on each shoulder and kissing her on the cheeks, and then offered her hand in Ancelstierran fashion to Nick.
“Welcome,” she said. “A long way from Somersby, I think, Mr. Sayre?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Nick, rather flustered. The last time he’d properly met Sabriel he’d been in the Fifth Form and thought himself very grown up.
“Call me Sabriel. You haven’t formally met my husband, I think? He didn’t visit the school. Touchstone, this is Sameth’s friend Nicholas Sayre.”
“An honor to meet you, sir,” said Nick, shaking hands. He couldn’t help himself glancing down at Touchstone’s bare knees and blushed as Touchstone saw him do so, and laughed.
“Always worn a kilt,” he said. “It was the fashion in my day, and a fine, comfortable garment it is. I’ve been trying to reintroduce it ever since, but when even my son won’t wear one, I suppose my efforts are wasted! Sameth should be here shortly, by the way; his boat is tying up now.”
“Sam’s here?” asked Nick.
“Yes, come to see what is going on with you, I suppose,” said Touchstone. “While we are all trying to find out about a host of other things. The first step being for you to meet a messenger, Lirael. Allow me to present Ferin of the Athask people.”
Lirael looked to the odd one out in the group around them, the young woman in strange, red-stitched clothes made of some kind of soft leather, her right foot recently amputated from the look of the bandages and evidence of healing spells Lirael knew well, though the way she moved so well on her crutches suggested the amputation had taken place a week or more ago.