“Hells with it. One more,” said Viv, darting her hand into a fresh page. And this time, what she found made her smile immediately. “Now this I recognize.”
Her fingers traced a pommel and slipped around a leather-wrapped hilt that fit her palm so well, it might have been made just for her. Tightening her grip, she felt momentary resistance, as though the weapon was lodged in a thin scrim of ice. She imagined she could hear the grinding snap as it broke free and she hauled it smoothly into the open, foot by foot, until she held it before her in both hands.
A greatsword, broad and gleaming. As cold shed from the steel with a frosty keening in the warmth of the room, moisture beaded on the blade and ran down into the fuller.
Viv stared in awe, and a thrill of recognition passed through her, like a scent from childhood. “Gods,” she breathed, turning it to catch the light. The forging was exquisite, the balance superb. She ran a thumb appreciatively down the flat of the blade.
She glanced at Fern, who eyed it with a worried expression, and then at Satchel, who was hunched over again in that hunted posture.
Her stomach twisted. “What?” she asked, lowering the blade and taking a step back.
Suddenly, the surface of the page seemed to ripple. It should have been impossible to detect, since no light reflected from it, but still, it could be perceived, a vibration that matched a low thrum issuing from the void, like a horn sounding in a distant valley.
“What was that?” asked Fern, whiskers twitching nervously.
Satchel sighed, a feat he accomplished even without lungs. “The Lady’s warning. She knows when something is withdrawn. The book calls to her.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” cried Viv, but when he gazed back at her with those cold blue eyes, the answer was obvious.
“He has to protect the Lady’s secrets,” whispered Fern, then shouted, “Put it the fuck back!”
An avaricious flinch made Viv’s grip tighten on the hilt, and light seemed to drip along the keen edge of the blade, like sap down a tree trunk. “I don’t think that’s going to help any,” she protested.
“Maybe not, but what if it’s cursed, or … or … I don’t know. Evil?”
Viv snorted. “It’s a sword. A damned good sword.” But really, she didn’t want to admit how much the blade called to her, how very right it felt in her hands, and how loath she was to part with it. Besides, there was a more pressing issue, as far as she was concerned. “What we should be worried about is the book. Can she find this, Satchel? Can she tell where it is?”
“I cannot—”
“You cannot say,” sighed Viv. “Yeah, that sounds like a solid maybe to me.”
“We could destroy it?” suggested Fern. “Although the idea of burning a book … even this one …”
“You must not,” said Satchel, his hollow voice suddenly booming. The inscriptions along his bones bloomed with blue light, which faded almost as soon as it had appeared.
They both startled at the force of his admonition and shared a worried glance.
“Besides,” said Viv, “imagine what else might be in there. When Rackam and the rest do away with Varine …” She trailed off. “Maybe money wouldn’t be a problem anymore for your bookshop, you know?”
Fern wrinkled her nose and looked thoughtful at the same time. Viv could tell she was considering it. The rattkin surveyed the shambles of the shop’s interior: the stacked books, the wrapped parcels, the barely filled shelves. She dropped her paws to her sides, and exhaustion seemed to suddenly overcome her. “What do we do with it, though? We can’t keep the gods-damned thing here and hope that nothing goes wrong. Not now.”
Viv reluctantly admitted, “There’s really only one thing that make sense.”
* * *
“It’s Varine’s?” asked Iridia, examining the book with narrowed eyes. She ran her finely scaled hand across the surface, feeling the tracery of glyphs at the edges.
“Our mysterious stranger hid it in the bookshop. I think he stole it from her.”
“And you know this how?”
Viv flipped back the cover. Iridia calmly regarded the exposed black page.
“They’re portals to an underspace,” she said. “Like a treasure vault, or something.”
Viv dipped a hand into the blackness and immediately pulled it back out.
The tapenti hissed an indrawn breath and glanced sharply at the orc. “An underspace?”
“That’s what Fern called it. She, uh, reads about this sort of thing. There are hundreds of them.” Viv turned the pages. “They contain, um … various things.”
“A fascinating object. Undoubtedly valuable. And yet I don’t see how you can be sure it’s hers.”
“No chance I can convince you that I can tell by the smell?”
Iridia chuckled throatily.
Viv didn’t take that as an affirmative. She scratched the back of her neck. “Look, I might have pulled something out, and then … well, I think there’s a sort of alarm? It’s possible Varine may know I took something, and, uh, maybe even where it is right now. Potentially. Maybe.”
“And what did you take from it?”
“Nothing she needs.” She hurried onward. “Anyway, I figured the best thing for it was to keep the book someplace protected.” She met Iridia’s gaze steadily. “Maybe locked up here.”
“So what you’re saying is that you’d like to store a potentially dangerous object, which is of immense value to an even more dangerous necromancer, here. In my offices.”
Viv shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”
Iridia smiled thinly. She slid the book off the desk and weighed it in both hands. “I do so look forward to your eventual departure.”
* * *
The greatsword was impossible to hide when Viv pushed her way into The Perch that evening. With no way to sling it over her back, she held all six feet of it point down before her, hoping to make her way swiftly up the stairs.
“Holy hells!” cried Gallina, immediately scuppering those plans. “Where’d that come from?”
“It’s, uh …” Viv realized she should have come up with an explanation for the sword’s provenance ahead of time. “I … bought … it?” she finished lamely. And entirely unconvincingly.
Brand watched her with interest as well. “Hm. Greatsword, eh? Feeling underarmed?” he asked.
Viv tried to smile, but it felt like a grimace and probably looked about the same. “Really done in for the day. Just going to head up to my room.”
She limped up the stairs, tucking the blade under her arm, and hurried to her room, where she closed the door firmly behind her. A damp sea breeze filtered through the narrow window, laced with the sulfurous smell of seaweed.
She laid the greatsword atop the leather straps of the empty bedframe, lit the lantern, and stepped back to examine the blade.
The steel glimmered along its flawless length, clean and perfect, not so much as a nick or notch to mar the edges. The leather wrapping on the hilt might have been bound and shrunk yesterday, and a beautiful but substantial silver ring formed the pommel.
Viv immediately wanted it in her hands again.
She probed her thigh, testing the receding ache there. Had Rackam cornered Varine the Pale yet? Was he still alive? Was she? The signal from the book strongly implied she was.
Impatience swelled in her breast. She’d been reading and idling away her days, with nothing but a little indifferent training to keep her reflexes afloat.
Murk seemed to have a sleepy power over her, a seductive song of indolence.
She’d almost let it claim her. Sure, she had to bide her time and heal. And there was no harm in wringing a little enjoyment out of her forced recovery. She thought guiltily of Maylee. Or a little companionship, she added mentally.
But her time in Murk must draw to an end. And she needed to be ready when it did.
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