“I…” Scorio hesitated, looked down the tunnel, then back at Gelegos. “Someone’s been waiting for you for seventeen years?”
Gelegos waved his hand. “In a manner of speaking. She’s dead, alas. Which makes sense, seeing as we’re fated to never reincarnate at the same time. When I pass away, she will be reborn, and our correspondence will continue.” He paused, blinked, then smiled. “We’re pen pals, you could say, though our chosen method of communication is painfully obtuse poetry that we store here in the library. We do it to spite each other. I do think it’s the highest form of love.” He smiled fondly. “But enough of that. Your idea, my friend? Tell me it’s suitably cunning and unprecedented.”
“Right, ah, yes.” Scorio blinked, stood up a little straighter, then hesitated. Could he trust Gelegos with his plan? Would the man report him? Tell, if not Praximar, then his head recruiter?
“Oh come,” said Gelegos, smiling in dark amusement. “While I’m happy to help, I trust there is nothing truly new under the suns of hell. Whatever your brainchild, I’m sure it’s been done many times before. Don’t worry overmuch about its secrecy.”
“Oh. Right.” Scorio nodded, more to himself, and then shrugged. “I want to learn more about Imperial Ghost Toads.”
“Imperial Ghost Toads,” said Gelegos slowly, as if tasting the words. “My, that’s an awfully specific request. You must have encountered one during your time in the ruins?”
“Precisely so.”
“Imperial Ghost Toads. Of what use could they be to you? I don’t know much about that class of fiends. They’re cognizant, are they not? Capable of some manner of speech? Did you befriend one?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Intriguing. How do you think one such will help you in your situation?”
“I don’t know if they can. I’m grasping at straws at this point. Do you know how to locate books on them?”
A cunning gleam entered Gelegos’s eyes, and Scorio became sure the recruiter was aware that there was more than was being revealed. But after a moment, he shrugged and pushed off the shelf. “Fair enough, my friend! I respect your privacy and am happy to be a humble assistant in this quest of yours. Come.”
He led Scorio back into the Cell of Fiends and into the tunnel of Collected Taxonomies. Moved past the shelves, frowning and muttering to himself as he went. Reached at last a set of shelves and there stopped.
“Here we go. Class Dire Amphibia, Order Anura, meaning without tail… hmm.” He tapped at different spines, passed over empty spaces, then paused. “A general overview of the Class? No. Let us sharpen our line of inquiry. Ah—Being a Biological Examination of Imperial, Magisterial, Administrative, and Minor Bureaucratic Toads.” He drew forth the small, chunky book, which Scorio was glad to see wasn’t warded. “This should help. Now. Is there an index? There is an index, praise be. Imperial Ghost… Imperial Ghost… here you are.”
He flicked to the right page, then turned the book about and placed it in Scorio’s hands.
There were three pages, Scorio saw, dealing specifically with the Imperial Ghost Toad. The writing was crabbed, practically illegible, but there was a crude ink drawing that unmistakably portrayed a toad with the same eyeless, horned head.
“Excellent, thank you,” said Scorio.
“You’re most welcome. I look forward to your shocking successes! Now, if you’ll excuse me, Millandria awaits.”
“I hope the poetry is appropriately infuriating.”
“Oh, it is. She’s adopted a particularly grating meter that she knows drives me mad. Delightful.” And with that, Gelegos turned and strode away, whistling once more.
Scorio dropped into a crouch and set to work reading the three pages. A couple of paragraphs described the toad’s appearance, another couple on its usual habitat—which seemed to be anywhere rich in its kind of mana—then a page on their social organization.
Scorio stopped skimming and took his time deciphering the ancient writing. Apparently, they were solitary creatures that gathered in great assemblies known as “parliaments” every decade or so. There they would extrude all their gathered mana, forming deep reservoirs in which they would swim, challenge each other to a game known as “quantics,” and then mate, with partners determined by who won the most games.
“Huh,” said Scorio, flipping to the next page. There was no explanation of how quantics was played, nor what its rules were, but a footnote listed a treatise penned by the same author entitled A Review of Quantics, Its Rules, Permutations, and Winning Techniques as Observed by the Author at a Parliament in the Year 634. Frowning, he continued reading. Imperial Ghost toads spent their lives preparing for these parliaments, focusing on consuming ever denser forms of mana through a technique known as “engorgement.”
“You mean ‘Delightful Secret Marinating technique,’ idiot,” muttered Scorio.
Engorgement, the author wrote, was a means by which the toads could continuously extract mana from the environment, a passive process that allowed them to condense it into liquid form that permeated their bodies, the excess of which was secreted and left behind. This worked best when the engorger located a deep concentration of their chosen mana, and could there saturate their being to the utmost.
That gave Scorio pause. He sat back and stared at the books across from him. Saturated with liquid mana. He pondered, then resumed reading. There wasn’t much more on the technique, however; the author only connected its utility for the toads to their parliamentary activities, and never seemed to consider any other application for it.
Frowning, Scorio turned to the last page, which outlined the toad’s natural predators. These proved to be a long list of fearsome sounding names that meant little to Scorio. The last section was on their lifecycle. They could theoretically live forever if they were able to find ever richer sources of mana; after each parliament, their requirements increased, till at last, they starved, unable to find dense enough mana to sustain their aging bodies.
And that was it.
Scorio frowned and tapped the book against his chin. Delightful Secret Marinating technique. He had to learn more about it.
But what could induce Nox to talk about something so private?
He opened the book once more, and ran his finger over the lines, till he settled on the footnote.
A Review of Quantics.
“Scorio?” Lianshi’s voice, a hushed but urgent whisper. “Where are you?”
He rose, and with book in hand returned to the Cell of Fiends, where Dame Musko was glowering at them all. However, the presence of a dour, dark-skinned man clothed in gray woolen robes seemed to keep her in check; he stood beside Lianshi, expression severe, and at the sight of Scorio relaxed a fraction, as if he’d been about to excuse himself and leave.
“There you are,” she said, hurrying to his side and turning to face the man. “This is Librarian Oronto. He’ll help us find what we need.”
“Do you know the title, perchance, or the name of the author?” asked the librarian, the skepticism in his voice so rich that Scorio felt like a child being asked to list his favorite mathematical formulae.
“Actually, I do.” He smiled blithely at the surprised man. “A Review of Quantics, by Sebastian Bufo.”
“Hmm.” The librarian blinked, then tapped his chin. “Very well, then. Let us take a look.”
Lianshi stared at Scorio in confusion and mouthed something that might have been “What are you doing?” as the librarian stalked off into one of the tunnels.
Scorio just grinned at her, tapped the side of his nose, and followed after Oronto.
1
“Run this past me again,” huffed Leonis as he raced alongside Scorio.