The Myst Reader (79 page)

IT WAS A QUIET, FIRST-FLOOR ROOM IN A HOUSE
in the J’taeri District, overlooking the harbor. As the door closed, Veovis looked about him. It was a staid, respectable room, three large chairs resting against one wall, a large, dark-wood dresser against another. On the third, either side of the huge picture window, were two portraits. He walked across and studied them a moment. Both of the women looked stern and matronly, their clothing dark and austere—the dour uniform of respectable D’ni women for four thousand years and more.

He shook his head, then turned. The city bell was sounding the fourth hour of the afternoon. All was peaceful.

Would A’Gaeris come? And if he did, what would the old fraud have to say?

He could remember how angry A’Gaeris had been, the day of his expulsion—could remember vividly how he had glared at the Grand Master before throwing down his guild cloak and storming from the Hall.

Veovis had been but a student that day, not even a guildsman, let alone a Master. And now here he was, almost fifty years on.

The door behind him creaked open. Veovis turned, to find Suahrnir standing there.

“Has he come?”

Suahrnir nodded, then stood back as A’Gaeris entered the room. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, but stout in girth and balding, his gray hair swept back from his pate and worn unfashionably long. He wore a simple black tunic and long baggy pants of a similar black cloth. But it was his eyes that drew attention. Fierce eyes that stared intently, almost insolently back at Veovis.

“My Lord,” A’Gaeris said, the slightest sneer in the greeting.

“Philosopher,” Veovis replied, matching his tone perfectly.

A’Gaeris smiled. “I was not wrong, then.”

“Wrong?”

“I said you had fire in you. And I was right.”

Veovis smiled sardonically. “That would be praise if from another’s lips.”

“But not from mine?”

“I do not know you, except by reputation.”

“You have read my writings, then?”

“Not a word.”

A’Gaeris barely batted an eyelid at the news. “Then that is a joy to come.”

“And modest, too?”

“Need I be?”

Veovis smiled, warming to the man. “You are sharp, A’Gaeris, I’ll give you that.”

“Sharp enough to cut yourself on, I warrant. So why are you here?”

“To be honest, I am not sure. I was persuaded that you might help me.”

“Help you?” A’Gaeris laughed, then walked to the window and stared out. “But you are a Lord of D’ni. How can I, a mere common man, help
you?
”

But there was a teasing glint in the Philosopher’s eyes that intrigued Veovis.

“I do not know.”

“No.” A’Gaeris looked back at him and smiled. “But maybe I do.”

“Go on.”

“I hear things.”

“So Suahrnir told me. But are they things worth hearing?”

A’Gaeris shrugged. “What would you know?”

“Something to my benefit?”

“And your foes’ disadvantage?”

“Perhaps.”

The Philosopher smiled. “We share one important thing, Lord Veovis. A love of D’ni, and a belief in the purity of D’ni blood.”

“What do you mean?”

“I speak of your once-friend Aitrus and his ill-chosen wife.”

Veovis narrowed his eyes. “What of them?”

“Only last night, it seems, the outsider woman sent Master Jura of the Healers away with his tail between his legs. And the child’s nurse.”

Veovis looked to Suahrnir again. This was news indeed if it were true.

“Do you know why?”

A’Gaeris grinned broadly. “It seems Master Jura suggested that it might save time and trouble were the half-breed to be peacefully done away with.”

Veovis stared back at him a moment, astonished. “And what did Master Aitrus say of this?”

“What could he say? He is away. But he will know soon enough when he is back.”

“It is a shame.”

“Indeed,” A’Gaeris agreed. “Such a union should never have been allowed.”

“I did all I could to prevent it.”

“I know.” The Philosopher was looking at him now with sympathy and understanding.

Veovis looked down. “It seems you know what I want, Philosopher. But what of you? What do you want?”

“To be your friend.”

Veovis looked up, smiling, expecting some sardonic look upon A’Gaeris’s face, but those eyes were serious and solemn.

“I have missed the company of my peers,” A’Gaeris said. “It is all very well preaching to the rabble, but it changes nothing. My life ended when the guild threw me out.”

“They had good reason …”

“They had none!”

The sharpness of the rejoinder surprised Veovis.

“I was falsely accused,” A’Gaeris went on. “There was no missing book. Or if there was, it was not I who took it.”

“So you say,” Veovis said quietly.

“So I say,” A’Gaeris said, fiercely now, challenging Veovis to gainsay him a second time.

There was a moment’s silence, then Veovis shrugged. “Give me a day or two to think on this, and then, perhaps, we shall meet again.”

“As you wish.”

Veovis nodded, then smiled. “You say she threw the Healer out?”

“She threatened him, I’m told.”

“Well …” Veovis nodded to himself thoughtfully, then walked over to the door. “It was interesting meeting you, Philosopher.”

“And you, Lord Veovis.”

DARKNESS WAS RISING FROM THE LAKE AS
A’Gaeris climbed the back stairs of the lodging house where, for the past fifty years, he had stayed. Corlam, his mute assistant, watched him from the darkened window overhead, turning hurriedly to cross the room and light the lamp.

The Philosopher seemed thoughtful tonight. As he came into the room he barely acknowledged Corlam, but went straight to his desk and sat.

The room was a shrine to the Philosopher’s endeavors. Apart from the door and window, there was not a square inch of the walls that was not covered in books, piled two deep on broad stone shelves. Some were reference books, others books of Council minutes and resolutions. Some—almost all of those on the shelves at the far end of the rectangular room—A’Gaeris’s own journals.

For fifty years he had labored here, since the day he had been cast out of the guild, making his plans, slowly preparing for the day when he could emerge again from obscurity and become a name again. Someone
everybody
knew, and not just the rabble of the lower city.

All this Corlam knew intimately, for, having “adopted” him as a child—an orphan of the lower alleys—A’Gaeris trusted Corlam as he trusted no one else, using him as a sounding board, rehearsing his ideas and thoughts, refining his theories until Corlam knew them almost as well as he.

Corlam went across and stood behind his master, watching as A’Gaeris took his latest journal from the left-hand drawer and, laying it on the desk, opened it and began to write.

Today had been important. Corlam knew that. His master had been in a state of some excitement for days before this meeting, though why exactly Corlam could not ascertain. Lord Veovis was, he knew, an important man, but why his master should desire to meet him only A’Gaeris himself knew, for he had said nothing on this score to Corlam.

“Real books,” A’Gaeris said, after a while, glancing up at Corlam. “If only I could get my hands on some
real
Books.”

Corlam stared back at him. There were many Books on the shelves—most of them “liberated” from the guild libraries; for, after all, with so many books, the guildsmen rarely ever noticed one was missing—but he knew what his master meant. He was talking about kortee’nea. Blank D’ni Books. The kind one used to link to the Ages.

“I know,” A’Gaeris said, smiling at him, then turning back to his journal. “You cannot help me there, Corlam. But maybe our lordship can. Besides, I have a man on the inside now. A friend who wants to help me. If I can persuade
him
to aid me, who knows?”

Corlam looked closer. His master was practicing again. Writing words in someone else’s hand. Corlam squinted at the page, then tapped A’Gaeris’s shoulder, nodding vigorously. It was Lord Veovis’s writing, as clear as day. He had seen examples only the other day, from the records of the Council.

Corlam watched, openmouthed. Though he had watched A’Gaeris do this many times now over the years, he still found it magical the way his master could so easily copy another’s hand. He had only to study it an hour and he had it.

Pushing the journal away from him, A’Gaeris yawned and stretched, then turned to face Corlam.

“You know, I had an idea today, Corlam. While I was waiting for his Lordship to turn up.”

Corlam smiled, a look of attention coming to his features.

“It’s like this,” he went on. “I was asking myself how I could get into a place where I should not be—into a Guild strong room, say, or a well-guarded cell—and then get out again without being caught. The easiest way, of course, would be to write a specific linking book to allow me to link into that place. But to get out again I would need a second linking book, and I would have to leave it there. You follow me?”

Corlam nodded.

“So. Getting in would be easy. Getting out without being followed and tracked down by the Maintainers would be extremely hard. Unless …”

A’Gaeris smiled a great smile of self-satisfaction. “Unless, of course, one linked on to another Age, and then another after that. In fact, one might take three separate Linking Books into the cell with one, just to confuse things. But it would be no good having the second and third Linking Books at the place where one linked
to
each time. That would be no good at all. No. One would need to hide the Book a good hour’s walk from where one linked to, so that anyone following you would have to search a wide area in order to find that second Book. Indeed, one could have three or four such Books—only one of which you would use. And when one linked the second time, again you would have an hour’s walk to get to the next Linking Book. That way no one could follow you. At least, not quickly, and maybe not at all. A little preparation, two hours’ walking, and one would be safe.”

For a moment A’Gaeris’s eyes glowed, then he looked down. “Of course, one would need a masterful writer to create Ages at will, and, say, a mole inside with access to places such as … cells, for example.”

ANNA WAS IN THE LABORATORY, WORKING ON
the latest soil samples from Gemedet, when Aitrus came in. Gehn was in the cot on a bench nearby. As Aitrus came across, he stopped to lean over and smile at his softly cooing son before greeting Anna.

Anna looked up from the lens of the microscope and smiled. “I won’t be long.”

He nodded. “I have had a letter.”

“Who is it from?”

“That is just it. It is not signed and the handwriting is unfamiliar.”

He handed it to her, then waited as she read it.

“Destroy it,” she said, handing it back to him. “And do not get involved, whatever it is.”

“But what does it mean?”

“Does it matter?”

Aitrus shrugged. “It is the tone of it that bothers me. ‘Something to your benefit’. And all of the secrecy. What do you think is going on?”

Anna sighed. “If it really worries you, Aitrus, hand it over to the Maintainers. Let them send a man along. But don’t you get involved.”

“All right,” he smiled. “I’ll destroy it.” And having said it, he reached across and, turning on the gas tap, ignited it, and held the corner of the letter in the fine blue flame. When it was well aflame, he dropped it into the sink. “There,” he said.

Behind him, Gehn began to whimper. Aitrus went over, lifted the baby from the cot, and cuddled him in the crook of his arm.

“He must be hungry,” Anna said. “I’ll finish here.”

“No, you work on,” he said. “I’ll feed him.”

She smiled. “Don’t overfeed him. That was the trouble last time. The poor little mite could barely cope!”

“I know,” he said, then, as if it were an afterthought, he added, “I have to go back to my rooms later on. There’s a report I have to finish. I’ll only be an hour or two. I can join you for a late supper.”