security.
“It’s fitting that they’re here in the Old City,” he continued. “It was Elven craftsmen who built many of the structures here, and especially the doors, but these are special.”
He pointed up at the intricately carved figures that ringed the arch at the top of each door. “These were built by a legendary craftsman who was rumored to be half elf and half troll. Made him crazy as a bedbug, but the work he did was second to none.”
As he spoke, Artus removed his ring, the symbol of hisoffice, and pressed it into a nearly imperceptible depression in the metal frame. There was an audible click from inside the doors, and only then did the guards relax their stance to allow the visitors to pass.
“I read somewhere that the rings and the locking mechanism were both carved from a ‘lodestone,’” said Artus, “but I haven’t the faintest idea what that is.”
He opened the massive doors. Inside they saw a honeycomb of shelves upon shelves filled with bound books, sheets of parchment, and rolls of papyrus, all in an incredible state of disarray.
“Please forgive the mess,” Artus said mildly. “The main body of the library has been moved now and again, and we keep adding new materials before we’ve had a chance to fully catalogue what we already have.”
“So this is the Great Whatsit,” Charles said, unable to disguise the admiration in his voice. “I wonder what old Craigie at the OED would think about this, eh, John?”
“Ah,” said Artus. “I see Tummeler’s been talking. No, it’s okay,” he added when Charles began to stammer an apology. “I know that’s what the animals began calling it. So does just about everyone else. It’s not a bad name, Great Whatsit. It’s better than what Aven called it, which, um, I can’t really repeat—lots of sailor words and the like, you know.”
It was the first time Artus had mentioned Aven in any context at all, and he did so in such a matter-of-fact way that none of the companions could discern anything from the remark.
Artus turned away from his friends, cupped his hands to his mouth, and bellowed, “Solomon! Solomon Kaw!”
In response to his call, an enormous black crow dropped downfrom the dark recesses of the ceiling above and perched on the desk next to Artus.
The bird wore glasses on the end of a giant, dusk gray beak, and a tight-fitting cleric’s vest. Charles half expected to see spats on its feet as well.
“Ho, Solomon,” Artus said. “How goes the work?”
“It go-go-goes as it go-go-goes,” the crow replied in a voice that sounded like a willow branch being swished through a pile of dry leaves. “We fi-fi-files the books, and no-no-note the files, as we have b-b-been doing these muh-muh-many centuries, oh King.”
“Well done, my good, ah, bird,” said Artus. “I need to ask: Have you a catalogue of myths, dating back…ah…?” He turned to Bert.
“Seven centuries,” said Bert. “Give or take.”
Without a word, the crow dipped its head, spread its wings, and disappeared into the stacks.
“Can’t beat crows for organizing a library,” said Artus. “We used to also have a staff of very efficient hedgehogs, but when the crows arrived, there was an unfortunate misunderstanding at the commissary, and it’s been just crows ever since.”
“A few of these look singed,” John observed, examining a stack of papyrus rolls. “Did someone get a little careless and leave them too close to a lamp?”
Artus peered over John’s shoulder at the rolls. “Oh, those. They’re from the old collection, in your world,” he said. “There was indeed a fire—but fortunately, a number of scholars with ties to the Archipelago were able to rescue them before too much damage was done.
“Actually,” he continued, “it was from these old documentsthat Arthur took the original seal of the High King.”
“The alpha ?” said Charles. “So these are Greek?”
“Yes, on both counts,” Artus replied, “although
“It’s fitting that they’re here in the Old City,” he continued. “It was Elven craftsmen who built many of the structures here, and especially the doors, but these are special.”
He pointed up at the intricately carved figures that ringed the arch at the top of each door. “These were built by a legendary craftsman who was rumored to be half elf and half troll. Made him crazy as a bedbug, but the work he did was second to none.”
As he spoke, Artus removed his ring, the symbol of hisoffice, and pressed it into a nearly imperceptible depression in the metal frame. There was an audible click from inside the doors, and only then did the guards relax their stance to allow the visitors to pass.
“I read somewhere that the rings and the locking mechanism were both carved from a ‘lodestone,’” said Artus, “but I haven’t the faintest idea what that is.”
He opened the massive doors. Inside they saw a honeycomb of shelves upon shelves filled with bound books, sheets of parchment, and rolls of papyrus, all in an incredible state of disarray.
“Please forgive the mess,” Artus said mildly. “The main body of the library has been moved now and again, and we keep adding new materials before we’ve had a chance to fully catalogue what we already have.”
“So this is the Great Whatsit,” Charles said, unable to disguise the admiration in his voice. “I wonder what old Craigie at the OED would think about this, eh, John?”
“Ah,” said Artus. “I see Tummeler’s been talking. No, it’s okay,” he added when Charles began to stammer an apology. “I know that’s what the animals began calling it. So does just about everyone else. It’s not a bad name, Great Whatsit. It’s better than what Aven called it, which, um, I can’t really repeat—lots of sailor words and the like, you know.”
It was the first time Artus had mentioned Aven in any context at all, and he did so in such a matter-of-fact way that none of the companions could discern anything from the remark.
Artus turned away from his friends, cupped his hands to his mouth, and bellowed, “Solomon! Solomon Kaw!”
In response to his call, an enormous black crow dropped downfrom the dark recesses of the ceiling above and perched on the desk next to Artus.
The bird wore glasses on the end of a giant, dusk gray beak, and a tight-fitting cleric’s vest. Charles half expected to see spats on its feet as well.
“Ho, Solomon,” Artus said. “How goes the work?”
“It go-go-goes as it go-go-goes,” the crow replied in a voice that sounded like a willow branch being swished through a pile of dry leaves. “We fi-fi-files the books, and no-no-note the files, as we have b-b-been doing these muh-muh-many centuries, oh King.”
“Well done, my good, ah, bird,” said Artus. “I need to ask: Have you a catalogue of myths, dating back…ah…?” He turned to Bert.
“Seven centuries,” said Bert. “Give or take.”
Without a word, the crow dipped its head, spread its wings, and disappeared into the stacks.
“Can’t beat crows for organizing a library,” said Artus. “We used to also have a staff of very efficient hedgehogs, but when the crows arrived, there was an unfortunate misunderstanding at the commissary, and it’s been just crows ever since.”
“A few of these look singed,” John observed, examining a stack of papyrus rolls. “Did someone get a little careless and leave them too close to a lamp?”
Artus peered over John’s shoulder at the rolls. “Oh, those. They’re from the old collection, in your world,” he said. “There was indeed a fire—but fortunately, a number of scholars with ties to the Archipelago were able to rescue them before too much damage was done.
“Actually,” he continued, “it was from these old documentsthat Arthur took the original seal of the High King.”
“The alpha ?” said Charles. “So these are Greek?”
“Yes, on both counts,” Artus replied, “although
Similar Books
