Soul of the Fire (Sword of Truth 5)

“Not important, anyway, like his things we have here.”

Richard was now at full attention. “What things?”

She swept a hand out. “We have some of his writings, here, in our vault. His dealings with others, letters, books on his beliefs. Things like that.

“Would you like to see them?”

Richard tried his best not to look too interested. He didn’t want these people to know what he was looking for; that was why he hadn’t asked for anything specific in the first place.

“Yes, that would be interesting. I’ve always had an interest in… in history. I’d like to see his writings.”

He, along with Vedetta Firkin, noticed someone coming down the stairs. It was a messenger of some sort—Richard had seen a number of them, all dressed the same. The redheaded man saw Mistress Firkin talking to Richard and Kahlan, so he spread his feet and clasped his hands behind his back as he waited at a distance.

Richard didn’t want to be talking about Joseph Ander’s works while a messenger stood watching, so he gestured. “Why don’t you see to him?”

Vedetta Firkin bowed her appreciation of his indulgence. “Excuse me for just a moment, then.”

Kahlan shut her book and set it atop the others she had already been through. “Richard, we need to get going. We have meetings with the Directors and a few other people. We can come back.”

“Right.” He let out a sigh. “At least we don’t have to meet with the Minister again. I couldn’t take another of those feasts.”

“I’m sure he will be just as glad we declined his invitation. I don’t know why, but the two of us always seem to somehow spoil festive gatherings.”

Richard agreed and went to collect Du Chaillu. Mistress Firkin returned as Du Chaillu was getting up.

“I would be happy to locate the books and bring them out of the vault for you, Lord Rahl, but I have a quick errand to run first, if you could wait for just a short time. I won’t be long. I’m sure you will find the writings of Joseph Ander a delight. Not many people get the chance to see them, but for someone as important as yourself and the Mother Confessor, I would—”

“To tell you the truth, Mistress Firkin, I would love to see the books. Right now, though, we must go speak with the Directors, but I could return afterward, later this afternoon, or this evening?”

“That would be perfect,” she said, grinning and dry-washing her hands. “It will give me time to locate them all and pull them out. I will have them ready for you when you return.”

“Thank you so much. The Mother Confessor and I can’t wait to see such rare books.”

Richard paused and turned back to her. “And Mistress Firkin, I’d suggest you give that raven some seeds. The poor thing looks frantic.”

She waggled her fingers in a wave. “If you say so, Lord Rahl.”

He stood when the old woman came into the room on the arm of one of his messengers.

“Mistress Firkin, thank you for coming.”

“Well, my, my, Master Campbell, but don’t you have a fine office.” She peered around as if she was interested in purchasing the place. “Yes, very fine indeed.”

“Thank you, Mistress Firkin.”

He tilted his head, ordering the messenger out. The man shut the door behind himself.

“Oh, and look,” she said, pressing her hands prayerfully together under her chin. “Look at all the fine books. Why, I never knew there were so many fine volumes up here.”

“Law books, mostly. My interest is in the law.”

She turned her attention his way. “A fine calling, Master Campbell. A fine calling. Good for you. You keep at it, now.”

“Yes, I intend as much. Mistress Firkin, speaking of the law, that brings me to the subject of my calling you up here.”

She gave a sidelong glance to the chair. He deliberately didn’t offer it, but instead kept her standing.

“I had a report of a man visiting the library who was also interested in the law. It seems he made a big to-do.” Dalton put his fists on the leather pad inlaid into his desk and leaned forward on them, fixing her with a glare. “It was reported that you took a restricted book out of the vault, without authorization, and showed it to him.”

As quick as that, she went from a chatty old woman to a terrified old woman.

While what she’d done wasn’t altogether uncommon, it was a violation of the rules, and thus the law. Most such laws were only selectively enforced, with violations only mildly punished, if at all. But occasionally people did get into trouble over violating such laws. As a man of the law, Dalton understood the value of laws widely ignored; they ensnared nearly everyone, thus giving you power over people. Hers was a serious offense, just one step below theft of cultural treasures, if he chose to pursue it.

She fumbled with a button at her throat. “But I never let him touch it, Master Campbell. I swear. I kept it in my hand every moment. I even turned the pages. I was only letting him look at the writing of our glorious founding father. I didn’t intend—”

“Nonetheless, it is not permitted, and it was reported, therefore I must take action.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dalton straightened. “Bring me the book.” He tapped his desk. “Bring me the book at once. At once, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. At once.”

“You bring it up here and put it on my desk so I can look it over. If there is no valuable information that might have been betrayed to a spy, I will not recommend any disciplinary action—this time. But you had better not be caught breaking the rules again, Mistress Firkin. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” She was nearly in tears. “Master Campbell, the Mother Confessor and the Lord Rahl have been down in the library.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Lord Rahl asked to see Joseph Ander’s books and writings. What should I do?”

Dalton could hardly believe the man was wasting his time looking over such useless books. He almost felt sorry for the Lord Rahl in his ignorance. Almost.

“The Mother Confessor and Lord Rahl are honored guests as well as being important people. They may see any book in our library. There are to be no restrictions on them. None. You hereby have authorization to show them anything we have.”

He tapped his desk again. “But that book you showed to that other man, that Ruben fellow, I want that book o

n my desk, and I want it now.”

The woman was fidgeting like she was about to wet herself.

“Yes, sir. Right away, Master Campbell.” She scurried from the room, her entire life now focused on retrieving the book.

Dalton didn’t really care about the book—whatever it was. He simply didn’t want the people in the library to get sloppy and start violating the rules. He couldn’t have people he didn’t trust in charge of valuable things.

His cobweb was humming with matters more important than some useless, dusty old book by Joseph Ander, but he had to mind everything, regardless of how minor. He would take a look at the book, but just her bringing it was what mattered to him.

Every once in a while it was necessary to throw a bit of fright into people to remind them who was in charge and who held sway over their life. Word of this would spread to others in the household. The fear from this one incident would straighten everyone’s back. If it didn’t, the next time he would put the violator out of the household in order to make an impression.

Dalton sank back into his seat and returned to his stack of messages. Most disturbing of them was the one saying the Sovereign was improving. He was reported to be eating again. Not a good sign, but the man couldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, Bertrand Chanboor would be Sovereign.

There were a number of messages and reports about other people dying, though. People out in the country were frightened by strange occurrences—deaths out of the ordinary. Fires, drownings, falls. Country people, terrified of things in the night, were coming into the city, seeking safety.

People in the city, too, were reported to be dying from similar events, and were similarly frightened. Seeking safety, they were fleeing the city and going into the countryside.

Dalton shook his head at the foolishness of people’s fears. He gathered the reports into a stack. Just before he put them to the candle flame, a thought struck him. His hand paused. He pulled the sheaf of messages back from the flame.

Something Franca once said had given him an idea.

They might be of use. He stuffed the reports into a drawer.