“There is no way out,” Samah said.
“There isn’t?” Alfred blinked like a startled owl.
“No. Not unless one has the key-sigil. And I am the only one with the key. You obtain it from me.”
“I—I’m sorry,” Alfred stammered. “I was just curious. I didn’t mean any harm.”
“Curiosity—a mensch failing. I might have known you would be afflicted by it. Ramu, check to see that nothing has been disturbed.”
Ramu hastened off. Alfred kept his head lowered, his eyes looking anywhere, at anything, to avoid meeting Samah’s. He glanced at the dog, still growling. He glanced at Ramu, noted absently that he went straight for one certain compartment under History of the Sartan and examined it carefully, even going to the trouble of magically checking to find out if any of Alfred’s presence lingered in the vicinity.
Acutely wretched and unhappy, Alfred thought nothing of this at the time, though he did note that Ramu spent far less time checking the other compartments, barely giving most of them a glance, until he came to the ones marked Patryns. These, too, he inspected thoroughly.
“He hasn’t been near them,” he reported to Samah. “He probably didn’t have time to do much.”
“I wasn’t going to do anything!” Alfred protested. He was beginning to lose his fear. The more he thought about it, he decided he had a right to be angry at this treatment. He drew himself up, faced Samah with dignity. “What do you think I was going to do? I entered a library! And since when is the collected knowledge and wisdom of my people forbidden to me? And why is it forbidden to others?”
A thought occurred to him. “And what are you doing here? Why did you come, unless you knew I was here . . . You did know I was here! You have some sort of alarm—”
“Please, calm yourself, Brother,” Samah said soothingly, his anger seeming to suddenly evaporate, like rain when the sun comes out. He went so far as to start to lay a conciliatory hand on Alfred’s arm—a move the dog didn’t like, apparently, for it thrust its body protectively between Alfred and the head of the Council.
Samah cast the dog a cold glance, withdrew his hand. “You have a bodyguard, it seems.”
Alfred, flushing, attempted to shove the animal to one side. “I’m sorry. He—”
“No, no, Brother. It is I who should be making the apology.” Samah shook his head, sighed ruefully. “Orla tells me I am working too hard. My nerves are frayed. I overreacted. I forgot that, being a stranger, you had no way of knowing our rules concerning the library. It is, of course, open to all Sartan.
“But, as you can judge”—he waved his hand toward the ancient-history section—“some of these scrolls are old and very fragile. It would never do, for example, to permit small children to get hold of them. Or those who might be browsing through out of idle curiosity. Such people, inadvertently, of course, and meaning no harm, might yet do irreparable damage. I don’t think you can blame us, if we like to know who enters our library?” No, Alfred had to admit, that sounded reasonable enough. But Samah wasn’t the type of man to rush here because he feared children were smearing grape jelly on his precious manuscripts. And he had been afraid. Angry and afraid, his anger covering his fear. Alfred’s eyes, of their own accord, strayed to that compartment, the first compartment Ramu had checked.
“Serious scholars are welcome, certainly,” Samah was continuing. “They have only to come before the Council and request the key.”
Samah was watching him closely. Alfred tried to stop his eyes from looking at the compartment, tried to keep them focused on Samah, but it was a struggle. They kept wanting to dart in that direction. Alfred wrenched them back. The strain was too much. His eyelids began to twitch, he started to blink uncontrollably.
Samah stopped talking, stared at him. “Are you well?”
“Forgive me,” Alfred murmured, shading his eyes with his hand. “A nervous disorder.”
The Councillor frowned. Sartan did not suffer from nervous disorders. “Do you understand, Brother, why we like to monitor the comings and goings of all who enter?” he asked somewhat tightly. It was obvious his patience was wearing thin.
Do I understand why a library turns into a trap, sounds an alarm, and holds those who enter hostage until the head of the Council comes to interrogate them? No, thought Alfred, I really don’t understand that at all. But he only nodded and mumbled something that might have been certainly he understood.
“Come, come!” Samah said, with a forced smile. “An accident, as you say. No harm done. I am certain you are sorry for what you did. And Ramu and I are sorry for nearly scaring you to death. And now, it is dinnertime. We will tell our tale to Orla. I’m afraid, Ramu, your mother will have a laugh over this mistake at our expense.”
Ramu gave a sickly chuckle, looked anything but jocular.
“Please, be seated, Brother,” Samah said, gesturing to a chair. “I will go and open the way out. The runes are complex. It takes some time to render them and you appear to be fatigued. No need to stand around waiting. Ramu will remain here to keep you company in my absence.”
Ramu will remain to make certain I don’t spy on you, discover the way out. Alfred sank down into the chair, placed his hand on the dog’s head, stroked the silky ears. I might be doing more harm than good, he considered, but it seems to me that I have a right to ask.
“Samah,” he called, halting the head of the Council on his way to the far door. “Now that I know the rules of the library, could I have your permission to enter? The mensch are somewhat a hobby of mine, you see. I once did a study on the dwarves of Arianus. I note that you have several texts ...” He knew the answer, saw it in Samah’s eyes.
Alfred’s voice dried up. His mouth opened and closed several times, but nothing more followed.
Samah waited patiently until he was certain Alfred was finished.
“Certainly you may study here, Brother. We would be most happy to make any and all documents relative to your work available to you. But not now.”
“Not now,” Alfred repeated.
“No, I’m afraid not. The Council wants to inspect the library and make certain that no damage was done during the long Sleep. Until we have time to devote to this task, I recommended to the Council that the library be closed. And we must take care that, from now on, no one enters ‘by accident.’” The Councillor turned upon his heel and left, disappearing out the door on the far wall that opened to a spoken sigil, a rune uttered in a voice soft and low. The door shut behind him.
Alfred heard, beyond it, the sound of chanting, but he was unable to distinguish any of the words.
Ramu sat down across from Alfred and began to make friendly overtures to the dog; overtures that were coldly rebuffed.
Alfred’s eyes slid, once more, to the forbidden scroll compartment.
17
We are home. home!
I am torn between joy and sadness, for a terrible tragedy occurred while we were gone . . . But I’ll write down all, everything in its proper time and place.
As I work on this, I’m sitting in my room. Around me are all my dear possessions, just the way I left them. This astonished me beyond words. Dwarves are very practical-minded about death, unlike two other races I could mention. When a dwarf dies, his family and friends hold a night of mourning for their loss and a day of celebration for the dead one’s gain in now being a part of the One. Following that, all the dwarf’s possessions are distributed among family and friends. His room is cleaned out and another dwarf moves in.[29] I had assumed that the custom would have been followed in my case and was prepared for the fact that Cousin Fricka would, by now, be ensconced in my room. In fact, I don’t mind admitting that I was looking forward to bouncing my obnoxious relative and her curly side whiskers out the door and down the stairs.
29
Living space is a problem for dwarves on the seamoons. Since dwarves prefer to dwell below ground level, they build their homes in tunnels beneath the seamoon’s landmass. Unfortunately, due to the fact that the inner core of the moon is, in reality, a living being, the dwarves found themselves unable to go beyond a certain point. The dwarves don’t know the moon is alive; they struck a protective mass through which they could not penetrate.