Apparently whoever came into this building was meant to stay in this building. Odd. Extremely odd. He sat down on the bench to consider the matter. Admittedly, the sigla on the outside had requested that he not go in, but it had been a request, not a prohibition. Also admittedly, he had no business inside here, nor had he obtained permission from the Council to enter.
“Yes, I’m in the wrong,” he said to the dog, petting it to keep it near him, finding comfort in its presence, “but I can’t be too wrong, otherwise they would have laid far stronger warding spells on the door that would definitely keep people out. And obviously people come in here, or at least they did once long ago.
“And because it doesn’t say anything about there being another way out,” he continued, thinking, “that must mean that there is another way out and everyone who came in knew about it. The way out was common knowledge and therefore they didn’t bother to put up directions. I don’t know about it, of course, because I’m a stranger, but I should be able to find it. Perhaps there’s a door on the side or around back.”
Feeling more cheerful, Alfred sang a light-shedding rune that appeared in the air over his head (absolutely fascinating the dog) and headed for the building’s interior.
Now that he could see clearly, Alfred was able to get a much better picture of his surroundings. He was in a hallway that ran the length of the building’s front and, from what he could tell by advancing to the end, then turned a sharp right angle, continued on down the side. Dim light filtered in through several skylights in the ceiling—skylights that, observed Alfred, could use a good cleaning.
He was reminded of one of Bane’s toys—a box that had another, smaller box nesting inside it, and another smaller box inside that.
A door in the center of the wall opposite the doors through which he had come offered entry into the next smaller of the boxes. Alfred studied this door and the walls around it carefully, telling himself that if there were runes of warding upon it, he would heed their warning. The door was smooth, however, had no advice or help to offer.
Alfred pushed on it gingerly.
The door opened, swinging easily on silent hinges. He entered, keeping the dog close at hand, and propped the door open with his shoe, when it seemed likely to shut behind him. Hobbling, one shoe on and one off, he entered the room and stood looking around in amazement.
“A library,” he said to himself. “Why, it’s nothing more than a library.” Alfred wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected (vague thoughts of nasty beasts with long, sharp teeth had been lurking in the back of his mind), but it wasn’t this. The room was huge, open, airy. A large skylight of frosted glass softened the glare of the sun, provided light to read by that was also easy on the eyes. Wooden tables and chairs filled the central portion of the room. The walls were honeycombed with large holes bored into the marble, and in each of these holes was housed neat stacks of gold scroll tubes.
There was no dust at all in this room; strong runes of preserving and protection adorned the walls, to prevent the scrolls from deteriorating. Alfred spotted a door on the far wall.
“Ah, the way out.”
He headed for it, moving slowly in order to make his way through the maze of tables and do as little damage to them and himself as possible. This proved difficult, for he discovered, as he traversed the room, that the various scroll compartments were labeled and catalogued for ease of access, and his attention kept wandering.
The Ancient World. He read the various categories: Art . . . Architecture . . . Entomology . . . Dinosaurs . . . Fossils . . . Machines . . . Psychology . . . Religion . . . Space Program (Space? What did that mean? Empty space? Open space?) . . . Technology . . . War . . .
Alfred’s footsteps lagged, came to a stumbling halt. He gazed about him in ever-increasing awe. Nothing more than a library, he’d said to himself. What a fool! This was the library. The Great Library of the Sartan. His people on Arianus had assumed it was lost in the Sundering. Alfred looked to another walclass="underline" The History of the Sartan, And, below that, much less extensive, though with numerous subcategories: The History of the Patryns.
Alfred sat down rather suddenly. Fortunately, a chair happened to be in the vicinity or he would have fallen to the floor. All thoughts of leaving vanished from his head. What wealth! What richness! What fabulous treasure!
The story of a world he knew only in his dreams, a world that had been whole, then was wrenched violently apart. The story of his people and that of their enemy. Undoubtedly, the events that led up to the Sundering, Council meetings, discussions . . .
“I could spend days here,” Alfred said to himself, dazed and happy, happier than he could remember being in vast eons of time. “Days! Years!” He felt moved to express his homage for this vault of knowledge, for those who had kept it safe, perhaps sacrificed objects precious to them personally to save what would be of immense value to future generations. Rising to his feet, he was about to perform a solemn dance (much to the dog’s amusement) when a voice, dry and brittle, shattered his euphoria.
“I might have known. What are you doing here?”
The dog leapt up, hackles bristling, began barking frantically at nothing. Alfred, the very breath scared out of him, clutched weakly at a table and stared around him, eyes bulging.
“Who . . . who’s there? . . .” he gasped.
One figure, then two, materialized, in front of him.
“Samah!” Alfred heaved a sigh of relief, collapsed into a chair. “Ramu . . .” Removing a handkerchief from a shabby pocket, Alfred mopped his head. The head of the Council and his son, faces grim and accusing, came to stand in front of Alfred.
“I repeat—what are you doing here?”
Alfred looked up, began to tremble in every limb. The sweat chilled on his body. Samah was obviously, dangerously, angry.
“I ... I was looking for the way out . . .” replied Alfred, meekly.
“Yes, I imagine you were.” The Councillor’s tone was cold, biting. Alfred shrank away from it. “What else were you looking for?”
“N-nothing . . . I—”
“Then why come here, to the library? Shut that beast up!” Samah snapped. Alfred reached out a shaking hand, grabbed hold of the dog by the scruff of its neck, and pulled it near. “It’s all right, boy,” he said in a low voice, though he wondered why the dog should believe him when he didn’t believe himself.
The dog quieted, at Alfred’s touch; its barking changed to a rumbling growl, deep in its chest. But it never took its eyes off Samah and, occasionally, when it thought it could get away with it, its lip curled, showing a fine set of sharp teeth.
“Why did you come to the library? What were you looking for?” Samah demanded again. He emphasized his words with a blow of his hand upon the table, causing both it and Alfred to shiver.
“It was an accident! I ... I came here by accident. That is,” Alfred amended, withering beneath Samah’s burning gaze, “I came to this building on purpose. I was hot . . . you see . . . and the shade ... I mean, I didn’t know it was a library . . . and I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to be here ...”
“There are runes of prohibition on the door. Or at least there were, the last time I looked,” Samah stated. “Has something happened to them?”
“N-no,” Alfred admitted, gulping. “I saw them. I only meant to take a quick peep inside. Curiosity. It’s a terrible failing of mine. But . . . well ... I tripped, you see, and fell through the door. Then the dog jumped on me and my feet must have . . . that is, I think I probably . . . I’m not sure how, but I guess I . . . kicked the door shut,” he finished miserably.
“Accidentally?”
“Oh, yes, of course!” Alfred babbled. “Quite ... by accident.” His mouth was drying up. He was drying up. He coughed. “And . . . and then, you see, I couldn’t find the way out. So I came in here, searching for it—”