Anya jumped out of bed and ran to the cast-iron railing to look up and down and across. There were four galleries above her, and above them a roof made of many octagonal glass panes set in an iron framework, allowing a considerable amount of diffuse sunlight to shine down. From the brightness and angle of the sunlight, she could tell the morning was already well advanced.
“Books,” said Anya in a rather dazed little voice. This was the biggest library she had ever seen. It must contain thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands of books. She turned back towards her bed and looked at the closest shelves, those on either side of the sleeping alcove. There were small bronze plates set into the rich reddish-brown walnut shelves, identifying the subject or category of the books thereon. Anya crept closer, as if the bookshelves might vanish, and leaned in to read one of the plates.
“ ‘Magic. Theory. General. Pre-Deluge.’ ”
She looked along the spines of the books. Most had titles there: type embossed, sewn, or stamped into their linen, calf, or metal cases. They all looked very interesting.
“ ‘The Source of Magic: An Enquiry,’ ” read Anya aloud, touching that book, and then the next, “ ‘The Various Practices of Magic,’ ” and a third, “ ‘Magic: My Thoughts and Analysis.’ ”
“We should go to breakfast,” said Ardent anxiously.
“Yes,” said Anya absently. She was looking at other shelves. They were labeled Alchemical Treatises: Old and Alchemical Treatises: Older and Alchemical Treatises: Ancient. Moving across, an entire bookcase had only one identifying plaque: Novels. With Magic. Worth Reading.
Anya was just reaching for one interesting-looking novel entitled As I Flew out One Morning when a slight whining noise behind her arrested that movement. She turned around to find Ardent holding a shirt very carefully in his mouth.
“Breakfast right now?” asked Anya, recalled to the present. Ardent nodded.
Anya took the shirt. It was a new one, of fine linen, with the sleeves already tied on with gold ribbons. On the end of the bed, there were more new clothes, all in her size. Underclothes, leather hunting breeches, a leather jerkin with pockets, a woolen cloak that did not smell like old sheep and was a lovely dark red on one side and could be reversed to a dull green on the other, and the great luxury of silk hose. Her old shoes, belt, belt purse, and knife were the only survivors of her previous clothing, but Anya was not sorry. She didn’t miss her old kirtle. Breeches were more sensible for questing anyway.
She did check her belt purse after strapping it on. The snuffbox and coins were still there. And the small water bottle that held the ex-druid’s blood was with her old clothes. She tucked that in her pouch as well.
“Hurry up!” urged Ardent. “They might run out of breakfast!”
The princess got dressed with her back to the shelves, to avoid further temptation. She knew she didn’t have time to read, not if they had to leave that day. Which begged the question of how they were going to leave, if the place was indeed surrounded by weasel soldiers.
But after a good night’s very deep sleep, Anya felt much more optimistic about that, and about her Quest in general.
“Lead on,” she said to Ardent. “I was so tired last night I can’t remember how we got here.”
“Two of the invisible servants c-c-carried you,” Ardent explained, loping off along the gallery. “There are stairs at each end. Come on!”
Breakfast was in full swing by the time Anya reached the main hall. She stopped in the doorway, just as she had the night before, but this time it was not in awe of the Seven Dwarves. She was a little taken aback to see visitors at the table with the Good Wizard and five of the dwarves.
Bert the robber and Dehlia the warden were there, with more than a dozen Responsible Robbers. All these latter folk looked rather the worse for wear, many sporting bandages, though at least they looked like freshly applied bandages. Bert herself had two fingers on her left hand splinted and tied up, and was wielding her fork very carefully.
Anya walked over to the table, Ardent managing to stay with her and not bound ahead, even though several huge platters of just-cooked bacon were being delivered by the invisible servants.
“Ah, good morning, Anya,” said the Wizard. She’d managed to lose the beard overnight. The others were all dressed, and the dwarves were even wearing armor, tough dark iron mail, and leather, but the Wizard was still in her pajamas and dressing gown. “Come, sit. Things have happened in the night, and there is much to discuss. We will talk and eat.”
“Good morning,” said Anya as she sat down. “Hello, Bert, Dehlia. Um, how did you get here? I thought we were surrounded by weaselfolk?”
“We fought our way through just after dawn,” said Bert. “The weasel soldiers don’t like the light. We’ve driven them off temporarily. But your stepfather—”
“Stepstepfather,” corrected Anya. She didn’t want to acknowledge any closer connection. Even stepstepfather was too close in her opinion.
“Duke Rikard has been busy transforming more and more weasels, and I expect they’ll be back in even greater strength come nightfall,” said Bert grimly. “I haven’t enough robbers here for a pitched battle, even with the assistance … the redoubtable assistance … of the dwarves.”
“Can’t you do something?” Anya asked the Wizard.
“Wizards don’t interfere directly,” the Good Wizard reminded her, neatly cutting the top off her boiled egg. “As long as Rikard’s creatures don’t actually try to get in, I have to let them alone.”
“The important thing is that they are gone for now,” said Bert. “So you will be able to leave, Princess. Have you thought about where you are going to go? And about our conversation in the stone theater?”
“About the Bill of Rights and Wrongs?”