Chapter 27 - The Archivist

                                    

                                          

Eskir's eyes shot down to hide on the floor.
The man wasn't holding a cane, he didn't have grey hair, and his skin was smooth and free of wrinkles. Anyone with eyes would think he wasn't old at all, but a middle-aged man still in the spry of his life. But there was something about him, some quality. I lowered my eyes too.
"It has been some time," he said. "A year, at least. I am glad to see you, even... not whole. And who is our guest?"
My name broke from my lips like a river bursting through a dam. Violent and untempered. "Xera."
"Kindred." It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"Ah, and that ring. Royal guard, too. I had heard that most of the others were lost. I am glad you have yours. It kept my friend alive. You kept my friend alive."
He stepped towards us. Every pace he made, I felt through my spine, some creeping unease. I half-expected him to slam me in the stomach with a hidden dagger, but he didn't. Instead, he rested his hand on my shoulder.
"Thank you."
"Hello again," murmured Eskir. "I'm sorry, it's been awhile. I'm n—not used to this anymore. Talking to you. And I've had some recent experiences."
I wasn't following the man's gaze, but his feet shifted. "Were you followed?" he said sharply.
"No." Eskir's voice was firm.
"Are you sure?"
"I am."
"She's here," he nodded towards me, then gestured to my ring. His eyes were grey, like frosted steel. He broke away from us, walking back to the threshold that connected our room to the rest of the sprawling maze.
"Well," he said, "welcome to the Athenaeum. I would assume Eskir intends to keep you here for a bit, until you've had a moment to look around."
The look he gave us was almost playful, like he was teasing Eskir for not being remotely subtle about his intentions. The man hadn't been fooled. He knew I was here for the truth.
I didn't even wait for him to leave. My eyes darted across the bookshelves, scanning for a pattern in the titles that might give away what they all had in common, but I found nothing. There were fairy tales and history books, books on road construction and others on the old war and its enemy. On the table, stacked on tomes and papers beneath it, an article in a newspaper was laid out facing the ceiling, 'The Fifty Two: Resource Analysis of Avengard's Linguistic Spellcrafting.' Another was titled, 'New Advancements In Magic Crafting Promise a Reinvention of Objective Wards.'
"Xera," said Eskir, "this is the Archivist."
"Fancy title," I said. "Bit of a giveaway outside though. Secret organisation. A man named the Archivist. And there's a giant blue gem on the door."
"Not when no one can find it," said the Archivist.
"We found it."
"You followed the lights. You never would have been able to do that if Eskir hadn't had one on him. Crafty, sneaking that out." He saw the look on Eskir's face and laughed. "Oh, I won't take it. I understand why they stole your voice, but I don't like it. And I gave them hell for it. None of them are allowed back in the archives, except to bring new collections."
Eskir's lip twitched. "They still stole it."
"Maybe one day, you'll get it back." The Archivist gave a small nod and left, leaving us to the cataloguing room.