“I think I could help with that much of it. As an Ander, and one known at the Minister’s estate, I’m trusted with access. Not everyone is. Those in authority have been altering history to such an extent that those of us who have lived a bit of it don’t even recognize our own past, much less trust the rest of what we’re told.”
She emerged from her private thoughts and straightened with a brave smile. “When do you wish to go there?”
“The sooner the better.”
“Do you think you could pretend to be a visiting scholar?”
“I think I could manage to look like I have difficulty recalling my own name.”
47
“Oh, how kind!” Zedd exclaimed in mock delight as the woman set down the heavy volume in the glow from the tall lamp. “I’m sure of it now. I’ve no doubt. You can be nothing other than a good spirit come to assist me, Mistress Firkin.”
The woman abruptly turned as shy as a teenage girl. Her cheeks reddened as she smiled.
“It’s my job, Master Rybnik.”
He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice to a playful whisper. “I prefer beautiful women call me Ruben.”
Zedd, when circumstances required the use an assumed name, favored the name Ruben Rybnik. He thought it a dashing name. Leading a simple life fostered the urge for occasional flamboyance. Zedd considered lighthearted diversion essential to balance. Something as simple as using the name Ruben Rybnik satisfied that need.
The woman blinked, not catching on to the flirtation—surprising, he thought, considering she was nice enough looking that she would have to have had ardent suitors throughout her long life. Zedd was forced to clarify himself.
“Therefore, Mistress Firkin, I prefer you call me Ruben.”
She stared blankly, and then, as he saw in her dark brown eyes realizations making connections, a sudden giggle burst forth to echo through the long room. A few people down at other tables glanced up. He noticed the eyes of one of the guards turn their way. Mistress Firkin put the back of her hand to her grin as her face went scarlet.
“Ruben.” She giggled again with the mischievousness of using his first name. She glanced around before leaning toward him. “Vedetta.”
“Ah,” Zedd cooed. “Vedetta. What a lovely name.”
She tittered as she scurried off, her shuffling steps echoing softly through the huge room—the lower of two floors of the elegant Anderith Library. From his place at a table, Zedd had long since watched through the windows as the sun set. The array of lamps lit with a warm glow the honey-colored oak of the room and provided illumination for those still more interested in devouring words than dinner.
Zedd dragged the heavy volume Vedetta Firkin had found in front of himself. A quick glance told him it was of no value. He opened it anyway so as to appear he was reading it with earnest interest.
He was not. The book he was really reading was to the upper right, but even with his head lowered, he could still turn his eyes up to the right and read the other, and any nosy person wandering past would be fooled. There were a few such people about.
He had already created a sensation with his grand entrance when he stood at the head of the library and made sweeping proclamations of having a hypotheses of law involving the accountability of secondary suppliers of goods to the signatories in trade agreements nullified by clauses involving acts of Creation not specifically specified in the subtext but implied by common law of ancient trading principles, and he knew he would be able to prove them out with the fine examples of rational law set forth in the examples found in the history of Anderith law.
No one had been bold enough to dispute his claims. Everyone in the library was perfectly happy to let him do his research. It helped to have Franca escorting him, since she was known in the library.
It was late, and the people running the library wanted to go home, but they feared incurring the wrath of anyone having such extraordinary command of law. Because he lingered, a few others did, too. Zedd didn’t know if it was to take advantage of the extra time the library was open, or to keep him under observation.
Franca sat across the table but down a ways to provide room for all the books spread out in front of the two of them. She pored through books and occasionally brought to his attention items she thought he might need to see. Franca was smart, and pointed out things few others would grasp, things that could conceivably be significant, but so far he had seen nothing of any practical use. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was he was searching for, but he was sure he hadn’t seen it yet.
Deep in concentration, Zedd started when someone touched his shoulder.
“Sorry,” Vedetta whispered.
Zedd smiled at the shy lady. “Quite all right, my dear Vedetta.” He lifted his eyebrows in question.
“Oh.” She reached into the pocket of her apron. She turned red again as her hand fished around.
The hand paused. “Found it.”
“Found what?” Zedd whispered.
She leaned closer, lowered her voice yet more. Zedd noticed Franca watching from across the table as her head was bowed to a book.
“We aren’t supposed to let just anyone see this. It’s very precious and rare.” Her face flushed red again. “But you are a special man, Ruben, so brilliant and all, that I brought it out of the vault for you to see for just a minute.”
“Really, Vedetta? How extraordinarily kind of you. What is it, then?”
“I don’t rightly know. Exactly. But it belonged to Joseph Ander himself.”
“Realllly,” Zedd drawled.
She nodded in earnest. “The Mountain.”
“What?”
“The Mountain. That’s what some of that time called him. When I don’t have anything to do, I sometimes read the ancient texts of the time—to learn more about our revered ancestor, Joseph Ander. Back then, as I gather, some called him the Mountain.”
Zedd was at full attention as he watched her draw the hand from her apron. She had something small. His heart sank because he thought it too small to be a book.
But then his heart felt as if it skipped a beat when he saw it was indeed a small black book.
A journey book.
It even had the stylus still in the spine.
Zedd wet his lips as she held it out in both hands before him. Zedd put a finger to his lower lip. She had no intention of letting such a valuable piece out of her possession, even if he was a fancy scholar. Over near the vault door two armed guards scanned the patrons, but paid Zedd no particular attention.
“May I see inside, Vedetta?” he asked in a strained whisper.
“Well… well, I guess it can’t hurt.”
The woman carefully opened the cover. The journey book was in pristine condition, but then, the one Ann had carried was just as old, and in just such good condition. Journey books were things possessed of magic, so that probably explained their being nearly as good as new despite their thousands of years of use. That, and the care with which the Sisters handled the valuable books. The people here used no less care.
Zedd froze in midbreath.
Mountain.
He understood. Mountain’s Twin was the mate to this journey book. It all fell into place in his head. Mountain’s Twin had been destroyed, and, along with it, possibly the disposition of the chimes.
But this book, Joseph Ander’s journey book, would have the same words—if they hadn’t been wiped away with the stylus.
He watched, spellbound, as Vedetta Firkin turned the first blank page over. A three-thousand-year-dead wizard was about to speak to him.
Zedd stared at the words there on the next page. He stared as hard as he could. They made no sense. A spell, he feared, to keep anyone from reading it.
No, that wasn’t it. Besides, magic had failed; such a spell wouldn’t still work. As he studied the writing, he realized it was a language he didn’t know.
Then it came to him. It was in High D’Haran.
Zedd’s heart sank. Virtually no
one knew High D’Haran anymore. Richard had told him he’d learned it. Zedd didn’t doubt him, but Richard was off on his way to Aydindril. Zedd would never be able to find, much less catch, him.
Besides, the people in the library were not going to let him take this book, and Zedd had no magic to do anything about it.
“What a glorious thing to see,” Zedd whispered as he watched the woman slowly turn the pages before his eyes.
“Yes, isn’t it,” she said with deep reverence. “I sometimes go in the vault and just sit and look at the thing written by Joseph Ander, and imagine his fingers turning the pages. It gives me shivers,” she confided.
“Me, too,” Zedd said.
She seemed pleased to hear it. “It’s too bad no one has ever been able to translate it. We don’t even know what language it might be. Some of our scholars here suspect it to be an ancient code used by wizards.
“Joseph Ander was a wizard,” she confided in a hushed tone. “Not everyone knows it, but he was. He was such a great man.”
Zedd wondered how they could possibly know he was great if they had no idea what he said. But then he realized that was precisely why they thought he was so great.
“A wizard,” Zedd repeated. “One would think a wizard would want his words known.”
Vedetta giggled. “Oh, you don’t know anything about wizards, Ruben. They’re like that. Mysterious and all.”