But at any rate, it sounded like the Guard Archives, though quiet and warm, would not be a good place to hide out. Nor would the Collegium Library.
But the Heralds had Archives . . .
Not as big as the ones for the Guards, not even as big as the Bardic ones, but they had Archives, and almost no one ever went there.
:Actually,: Dallen said, after a moment, :That’s a good idea. You didn’t look there for information about your parents, because you didn’t know the exact dates or place where the bandits’ camp was. Now you do, and there might be something in the Heralds’ reports. More detail about your parents’ clothing—perhaps even, if you look backward a bit, you’ll find someone who ran into them on Circuit, maybe in a town, maybe on the road. Heralds are supposed to report on foreigners they encounter.:
In all of the unhappiness, Mags had quite forgotten why he had uncovered that information in the first place. He gave that some thought. :Huh.: He thought a bit more. :Well... I got studyin’. Mebbe I kin look after I’m done wi’ studyin’.:
The Heralds’ Archives were in the top floor of the Heralds’ Wing, exactly where the library was in the Collegium Wing. Unlike the Guard Archives, or the Collegium Library, this enormous room was dark, and chilly. Like the Guard Archives, there were rows and rows of floor to ceiling shelves on either side of a passage through the middle of the room. Unlike the Guard Archives, it was rather untidy, with boxes left open on the floor, and books in piles. There were only a few lamps up here, and only half of them were lit, making perhaps four pools of light in the darkness, including one all the way at the end of the room.
This was why it was very obvious when someone moved a little at the end of the room. The shadow cast under the lamp there was quite long, and the movement did more than catch Mags’ eye, it practically made him jump.
Bugger, someone’s here already, he thought. But this was the most private place he was going to find, so he continued to move into the room. Whoever this was, maybe Mags could avoid him—
Which was, of course, right when his shin hit a chair he couldn’t see, and knocked it over.
“Who’s there?” cried out a startled voice.
One he knew.
“Amily?” he called back, incredulous.
“Mags? Oh good!” the relief and the welcome in that voice made him flush a little. “I’m so glad you’re here, you couldn’t have picked a better time. Please, come here, we found out what you wanted to know.”
Being more careful this time, he hurried across an expanse of floor made treacherous by the piles of books, boxes of papers, and scattered chairs. Whatever else they were, the Heralds certainly were nothing like as tidy about their record-keeping as the Guard.
He found Amily curled up in what looked like her own private little nest, in a corner that was surprisingly warm and cozy. A good oil lamp was fastened up on what looked like—and proved to be, when he touched it—the back of a substantial brick chimney. It radiated warmth into this space exactly as the one in his room did. There was a heavily padded half-lounge here, a couple of padded chairs, two little tables within easy reach, and books and a teapot and cup on them.
Amily smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling. “I love my father dearly, but sometimes I just want to be somewhere that he’s not,” she said. “And no matter how polite he is about it, we live in three small rooms and there is never more than a single door between us. It’s not hard for me to get up here, and no one minds my being here.”
She patted the lounge, and he sat down gingerly beside her, flushing a little. “But enough about all that. I was actually just putting the last of the reports into order for you.”
“Reports?” he said, feeling thick and stupid. She didn’t know about his search for his parents, so how could—
“About what the Foreseers saw,” she explained. “There’s a protocol for such things, and a good thing too, considering how wild some of the rumors have gotten. All Foreseers are trained to either make notes on what they Saw immediately, when the vision or dream is over, or dictate to someone. And I have copies of many of them right here.” She patted a folder on her lap. “I can sum them up for you if you want, though, since they are all nearly identical.”
Mags nodded, not trusting his voice.
“Every vision was of the same thing, and every vision lasted about the same length of time—quite, quite short. They have the impression that this is the end of a fight. They first see the King, who is standing, but with a look of horror on his face, covered in blood, his hands also covered in blood. They then see what looks like a small, slight man, quite ragged, also covered in blood, with a knife in his hands. They get the impression that he is foreign-born. They get the impression that someone is dying and someone is badly wounded. And that is all.”
Mags blinked. “That’s it? Ev’think else is just what summon made up?”
She nodded. “Exactly. They don’t see the other man’s face. That’s all. They don’t know which of the two is dying, or wounded. They don’t even know if there is someone else dying or wounded that they can’t see, or even if there is an entire crowd there.”
Mags didn’t know quite how to feel. On this slender thread was hanging all that hostility, all that anger—for what?
“I think I wanta hurt someone,” he said finally. Amily nodded with sympathy. “I don’t blame you. The damage is done and it’s rather late to get things set straight.”
He sighed and buried his face in his hands. After a while, he felt her slender arm around his shoulders, and she hugged him a little. “I’m sorry Mags, I wish there was something I could do. But at least—or, well, so I hear—Gennie is doing what can be done for now.”
“Eh, she’s a good sort,” he mumbled. “Whole team is, akchully.”
I cain’t go back t’ these people an’ point out what’s in the reports, cause that’ll only make things worse. But I got to know— He steeled himself, because he knew this was only going to make more pain for himself. “Amily, kin you an’ Lydia an’ Marc an’ all do me a favor?”
“Anything,” she promised, still keeping her arm around his shoulders. And... it felt awfully good, that arm. Not like Lena, though Lena was a good friend, and could be quite comforting. No, this was something else. There was something about the warmth and pressure that made him feel odd, and a little light, and... well... tingly. He found himself wondering how long he could keep his head in his hands like this, as an excuse to keep her arm around him.
“Wouldja all tell me ’xactly what yer hearin’ ’bout me?” he begged. “I mean, ev’thing. I’m mortal tired of seein’ people whisperin’ behind their hands. I wanta know the worst.”
“Oh Mags . . .” she sounded as if she was going to cry. “It’s going to be nasty, I am sure of it, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I don’ wanna be hurt, but truth’s better’n not knowin’.”
She sighed deeply. “All right. If that’s what you want.”
He echoed her sigh. “Ain’t what I want, ’tis what I need.”
“All right,” she repeated, and finally took her arm away. Feeling vaguely disappointed, he sat straight up.
“Reckon I better go,” he said reluctantly.
:Probably a good idea. You certainly are not going to get any studying done around Amily.:
:Hush, you.:
“I suppose you had better,” she replied wistfully, then brightened a little. “Just remember, you can always come up here and share my nook with me.”
“I thought ye said ye came here t’ be alone,” he replied, that odd, tingly feeling teasing at him again.
“I said I came up here to get away from Father,” she corrected. “Alone—not necessarily.” She smiled at him, and he felt all lightheaded. Then she reached out and gave him a little kiss on the cheek, and he forgot to breathe.