Free undying legion 01 - unbound man by matt karlov Page B

a different ink to the rest of the page. “What’s that mean?”
    “That’s an instruction not to return the books to the shelf. Someone else must have had them on reserve.”
    “Huh. Can you find out who?”
    The girl smiled. “See that note at the bottom? That’s a ‘Q’.” She paused, obviously expecting a response, but Arandras just shook his head. “As in the Quill. The sorcerers, you know?”
    “Yes, I know who the Quill are,” Arandras said. “I’m sorry, I’m a little confused. I thought only Library scribes were permitted to borrow books.”
    The girl nodded, causing her eyeglasses to slip again. “That’s right, of course. Narvi of the Quill joined the Library a few months ago. He comes in quite often, almost every week.”
    Narvi’s here? Arandras stared. What in the hells is Narvi doing in Spyridon? “A few months ago,” he repeated. “He’s been here that long?”
    “Ah, I thought it was you!” came a familiar voice from just behind him, and Arandras started to turn, a smile already forming on his face; but this voice was harsh, grating, and unpleasantly triumphant. Not Narvi. More like…
    “Onsoth.”
    The official give a satisfied smirk. “Lord Swine. Well, well. How did you get so far from your sty?”
    Ignoring him, Arandras turned back to the girl. “Thank you for your assistance,” he said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
    “What’s this?” Onsoth picked up the page. “Checking up on who’s borrowing what?” He shook his head, tutting disapprovingly. “Dear me. Feeling envious of our betters, are we?” He dropped the page and strode to the middle of the room. “Excuse me, please,” he called out, and a hush descended on the room. “Staff, please take note.” He pointed at Arandras. “This man is not a Library scribe. He does not have the privileges of a Library scribe. Please treat him as you would any other illiterate, low market scum.” He smiled. “That’s all.”
    The weight of the room’s eyes settled on Arandras. He stood, face burning beneath his beard, and started toward the door.
    Onsoth stepped into his path. “Nothing to say, Lord Swine?” he said softly, his lips curled in a smug smile.
    Arandras met his gaze. “Not to you.” And still less to your masters, who will pat you on the head and tell you what a good cur you are. “Step aside.”
    With a mocking flourish, Onsoth complied. “Stay in your hole next time,” he murmured as Arandras passed. “We don’t want your stench infesting the books.”
    Too late for that, Arandras thought as he reached the door at last and emerged into the plaza. Against the reek of the Library, no other scent stood a chance.
    •
    The benefits of being Havilah’s not-quite-adjunct were soon apparent. The house steward invited Eilwen to move out of her single room and into a two-room suite.
    The steward offered her a choice between a first floor suite overlooking the river and one on the ground floor by the building’s interior garden. Eilwen inspected both and chose the latter, drawn by the low-branching eucalypt just outside. The suite was already furnished — desk and shelves in the front room, bed in the back — but it took the better part of the day for her to move her possessions, and each trip up and down the stairs sapped the strength from her leg a little more. Her small library was first to come down, the books freed from their crate at the foot of her old bed and placed carefully on the shelves meant for her work. Next came her travel bags, followed by armfuls of clothing, then other assorted items. By sunset, even her good leg was beginning to ache; and when at last she came in with the final sack of sundries, she dumped it in a corner and collapsed onto the bed, wanting nothing more than to lie still.
    I’m aware of your hobby. It’s going to have to stop. Havilah’s words echoed in her ears, low and rolling and sad. I can do that, she’d said in response; but in truth, she wasn’t sure.