He followed along behind Mansourah and Léirsinn as deferentially as possible. He spared a look over his shoulder and wasn’t at all comfortable with the notice they were still attracting from those at the front door. Mansourah might have been a prince from that rustic hovel of Tor Neroche, but he wasn’t at all shy about using any of his nobility credentials. The head librarian was still in a bit of a swoon, leaving a handful of under librarians saddled with the task of holding him up.
It could have been worse, Acair supposed. The lad with the nose for magic they generally used for sniffing out interlopers could have been standing there as well. He was perhaps off having his morning ale, which was definitely a boon for them.
Acair gave Mansourah directions to an unassuming spot in an even more unassuming stack of extremely dry and rather poorly written—he’d checked previously, of course—tomes on the production of various varieties of cheese to be found only in the country of Meith. He’d been to Meith several times and whilst he could definitely say they were masters at their craft, they were also quite possibly the worst writers in the whole of the Nine Kingdoms. He paused with his companions, endured an opinion or two about his taste in literature that Mansourah couldn’t seem to keep from sharing, then turned his mind back to the business at hand.
He shared the single word necessary, then stood back and waited to see what would happen.
He honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if the entire library had come crashing down on their heads, which was one reason he’d pulled Léirsinn over to him where he could keep her safe in the case of such an event. Fortunately for the patrons within, however, not even a vigorous vocalization of the appropriate magical key had any effect. He considered Mansourah’s failure to obtain that slim, worn volume he could plainly see hiding there and came to the only conclusion possible.
He was a damned good mage.
Obviously his spells were every bit as formidable as he’d always considered them to be. He examined that particularly marvelous piece of work there to make certain it hadn’t been tampered with, but saw only what he’d left behind several months ago.
“What now?” Mansourah asked shortly. “Given that this is a dead end.”
Acair was disappointed, of course, but not ready to consign the whole of the journey to the rubbish heap. He hadn’t made a copy of his book, true, but it was possible perhaps to find the pertinent information in other places. Whether or not he wanted to go to those places was another matter, but it looked as if he might not have a choice.
He smiled gamely. “We’ll continue the search for what I need, of course. The journey has certainly not been wasted. The city does offer other delights worthy of our visit.”
“If you tell me we’re here to sit by and watch as you have another pair of boots fashioned,” Mansourah managed, “I will take them and shove them down your throat.”
“I’d rather see my tailor, actually,” Acair said without hesitation. “He always keeps a few things on hand for my sartorial emergencies. I might or might not have an extra pair of boots tucked into his workroom as well, so not to worry.”
Mansourah’s mouth fell open. It was possible he made one or two inarticulate sounds of amazement, but Acair thought it wise not to comment.
“You,” Mansourah said, apparently finding his tongue, “dragged us here to see your tailor?”
“My barber as well, if we’ve the time—”
He had to admit that the present moment wasn’t the first time he’d used Léirsinn of Sàraichte as a shield, and it was true that she’d stepped in front of him of her own accord, but there would come a day when he wouldn’t allow that sort of thing any longer. Convincing her of that might prove to be another thing entirely.
He peeked at Mansourah over her head. “Don’t bother with your puny spells.”
“I won’t need a spell to help me shove my dagger into your chest!”
Acair tsk-tsked him. “Lower your voice, lad. This is a place of study.”
Mansourah looked as if he might benefit from either some fresh air or a strong glass of port—perhaps both—so Acair didn’t waste any time urging Léirsinn around that choking piece of royalty and forging on ahead out of the stacks. He imagined Mansourah wouldn’t resort to murder in such a place, but he wasn’t at all sure that would last once they reached the outside.
Slipping out a back door he had used more than once in the past was accomplished easily enough and without any unwanted additions to their number. He continued on with his companions through the press of souls about their morning business, stopping only when he felt they’d gained enough distance from the library to be safe.
Mansourah shoved him aside. “Léirsinn, let us be away,” he said crisply. “We’ll retreat to our lodgings and share a bottle of wine in front of the fire whilst I decide how best to inflict a well-deserved and long-overdue death upon my servant.”
Acair didn’t waste breath arguing. He would absolutely prefer that Léirsinn be safely behind heavy doors whilst he spent the afternoon roaming the streets, keeping his eye peeled for any trouble he might have stirred up.
He walked behind the prince and a woman who would surely never lower herself to wed that same prince back to the most exclusive and, admittedly, expensive lodgings in town. If there were a pair of rough-looking lads leaning negligently near the very unassuming door that led to a much less unassuming courtyard, so much the better. Léirsinn would be safe, Mansourah would likely fall asleep in his ale, and he himself might manage to do a bit of nosing about.
He wasn’t above playing the part of a servant as they were again shown upstairs to that fabulously appointed sitting room. He found himself complimenting the prince of Neroche on his good taste before he could stop himself.
Mansourah glared at him. “Don’t plan on staying in here. I believe they have a spot by the coal bin downstairs that will be more fitting for your station.”
Acair hadn’t planned on anything, actually, though he couldn’t stop himself from eyeing a rather comfortable looking settee. He watched Léirsinn stumble over to it, sit, then lean over. She was asleep before she managed to even remove her boots. He did the honors for her, had a barely audible thank you as a reward, then covered her with a luxurious blanket that had been tossed over one of the armrests for just such a need. He straightened and turned to assess the lay of the land, as it were.
Mansourah was watching him. Acair didn’t suppose he wanted to know what was intended by that look, so he put on a polite smile and rubbed his hands together purposefully.
“I think I’ll go for a walk.”
Mansourah tossed his cloak over the back of one of the chairs in front of the fire. “I suggest a visit to the garden instead. No time like the present for a bit of swordplay.”
Acair snorted. “If you think I’ll lower myself to brawl with you—”
He stopped speaking abruptly for the simple reason that he became distracted by the rather fine rapier Mansourah had simply drawn out of thin air, then tossed at him. It arrived hilt-first, which he supposed was something of a concession. He examined the blade and found that it was very sharp indeed. He considered, then lifted an eyebrow.