Chapter 26.1: Back to the Book

Standing at the door to the Durmand Hall, Minkus sighed.

Master Gill had not been happy when he stopped Minkus in the hall of the Shining Inn. He'd remained cordial of course, even apologetic to a degree, but there was no escaping how displeased he had been to be reprimanding Minkus on behalf of another guest yet again. It had only grown worse when Minkus had apologized but still insisted he had business in town and quickly left to be about it. Even now, halfway across the city, Minkus had the innkeeper’s disappointed expression rising up in his mind.

He shook the thoughts away and knocked on the enourmous door. It was nearly evening now. The city’s walls and towers cast shadows across everything, forcing the people of Divinity’s Reach to begin lighting their homes and businesses, even though the sky above still glowed with the faint remnants of sunset. If the Alchemy was on his side, the librarian would still be on duty.

There was a clatter of moving metal parts, and the heavy door inched open, groaning at the hinges.

“Yes?” someone asked from the other side. She poked out. “Whatever you’re after, you’ll have to come back tomorrow. We’re— oh, it’s you!” Her eyes widened, and a smile suddenly dressed her lips. She pressed the door open wider and gestured for him to enter. With a similar groan and a deep thud, the door shut behind them, and she turned to look him over. “Why, I haven’t seen you for the better part of a season. How in Melandru’s Realm are you?”

“Hello, Levanche. I’m— well, not great, really.” He shrugged, letting his face fall. There was no point hiding it. “That’s actually why I’m here. I need to see a tome, that one tome— the one that my friend and I studied. Do you remember?” Wrapping a finger awkwardly around his ear, he looked up at her. “Oh,” he popped awkwardly, “I’m so sorry. Where are my manners? I— you— how are you?”

The human shook her head, snickering. “I’m just fine. But it sounds like you’re in a rough spot. I know the tome you’re talking about, that asuran work. But why do you need it now?” She looked up at the clock above the door. “We’re only open a few more minutes for public access.”

“Anything will help,” Minkus said. “I don’t want to be a bother, not at all, but— well, could I just look at it, for a minute maybe? Please? I need to see if what I remember is right. I promise it’s very important. Very, very important.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. Then she shrugged, turning toward the stacks. “For you, sure. But we won’t have long.”

It took her only a minute to dig it out and sprawl it open on the desk toward the back of the hall. “Here," she said. “I can give you ten minutes, but that's it. After that, unfortunately, I have to leave.”

“Yes, of course,” Minkus said, nodding emphatically. ”I understand. Thank you for helping.” Passing her the quickest of smiles, he looked down at the tome and started rifling through pages.

He rapidly flipped through fifty or so pages before coming across what he wanted. Magical stem isolation, essence infusion, psychic projection fields, and— there it was: Jade Constructs and Spectral Agony. Grinning more widely than he had in days, Minkus scanned the next few pages as quickly as he could, but it went beyond that. He spied several more, and then several beyond that. His eyes grew wider and wider with every turn of the page. There had to be thirty pages of relevant content there, and amid the diagrams, glyphs, and additional notes filling most spare inches of those pages, Minkus’ head began to spin with the volume of information he would have to filter and pass on, assuming he could even understand any of it. The Mursaat and White Mantle had made jade constructs, which used spectral agony. There was some counteractive importance to a thing called Seer’s essence. Zinn made golems to project that essence around humans soldiers. It was the story he recalled hearing as a progeny lab-attendant, but it was only the technical aspects of it, the aspects he was least likely to absorb. His hand rose quickly to his ear, and what began as fidgeting quickly intensified into a panicked fit of tugging.

The librarian cleared her throat, and Minkus snapped free of his anxious stupor. “I'm sorry,” she said, leaning over the desk toward him, “but we have to wrap this up.” Only now did he realize she’d extinguished most of the candles in the room while he’d been skimming about the tome.

“Um,” Minkus began, flashing quick looks back and forth between the librarian and the book in the dimmed light. “I wonder if— I mean, could I— is it possible if—” Levanche watched him curiously as words fell haphazardly from his mouth. Even he didn’t know what he was saying. “Could I borrow this? Just for the night? It would— I would— I don’t know how else to save my friends. I don’t even know if this will work, but I don’t— I don’t have anything—”

With an air of concern, the human librarian placed a hand on his shoulder. It stilled his tongue. “Bless the Six, you look like you’ve seen a wraith. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m sorry. The Priory simply doesn’t allow resources outside its walls.”

Minkus felt his heart beat faster. He didn’t really understand much of what these pages contained, but he did grasp how threatening this spectral-agony thing was.

“Um,” he stammered, letting sounds fill the space while he patted himself down, physically seeking a course of action. His hand slipped past the leather-wrapped sword-pommel protruding from the top of his bag, and he stopped. That was it. It was all he had.

With one hand, Minkus slid the sword free, and with the other, he pulled the magnet he used as a focus free from its clip at his waist. “These,” he said, laying them on the desk, just beside the book. “What if I left these for it?”

Straightening up, Levanche looked at him curiously, then looked at his offering. 

This was such a strange place for Minkus to find himself. His parents had once tried teaching him to haggle for wares and groceries, but he’d never taken to it. He hated it, in fact. But he didn’t know what else to do. “They’re probably not worth much,” he admitted, lowering his gaze, “but they’re the most I have. One was from my sister and the other from a very good friend. If you want to take them until I come back—”

The woman leaned back down and gently slid the two weapons back across the desk to him. She looked over both her shoulders, as though anyone else was in the room with them, and she met his eyes again. “You keep them.” She paused, searching his eyes. She was worried now too, though she clearly didn’t understand why. Minkus could relate to that feeling. “If you can promise me you’ll keep this between us and have it back tomorrow, first thing,” she said, raising a finger, “I’ll make an exception. Can you do that?”

Feeling a weight lift off him and a wide grin sweep across his face, Minkus nodded vigorously.

“First thing,” she repeated, pointing at him. He redoubled his nod, and she stood more erect, smoothing her skirt. “Very well. Put it in your bag, and I’ll see you in the morning. Now, though, I have to go.” They were still the only people there, but she looked around yet again.

Minkus gave the tome a squeeze and slid it carefully into his pack, right between his folded cloak and the sack of remaining apples Jinkke had bought for him. He took a deep breath, flipped his bag shut, and slung it over his shoulder as he passed Levanche on her way to the door. “Thank you,” he said, realizing he hadn’t done that yet. “I swear I’ll—”

She nodded. “I know. Do whatever it is you need to do, and Lyssa’s luck be with you. I don’t see how, but I hope it has what you need.”

Minkus sighed. “I do too.”