Free Glass by Stephen Palmer Page B

blue kirtle and black long-socks under purple boots, the whole giving the impression of sober sophistication. He replied, Do you think it suits me?
    Very much. The boots set it off well.
    Dwllis nodded, confirming that her view was correct. They had already reached the Archive on Onion Street, and he signed to her, I am going in to speak with an acquaintance. I may he some time.
    I am coming with you.
    Dwllis shook his head. I would rather you did not.
    I am coming.
    So be it.
    Dwllis, Cuensheley a pace behind, entered the cool and quiet interior of the Archive of Selene and asked a door flunkey whether any Archivists might be available.
    ‘Only the Lord Archivist is here of the superior staff,’ Dwllis was informed.
    ‘I shall see her briefly.’
    ‘That will be difficult–’
    ‘Ask her if you please,’ Dwllis replied, waving the flunkey away with a limp-wristed gesture. ‘Damnable lessers,’ he said, glancing at Cuensheley.
    ‘I used to be a lesser,’ Cuensheley said sharply.
    ‘I apologise, I did not mean–’
    ‘Don’t prejudge people and they may like you better.’
    ‘I am liked well enough,’ Dwllis complained.
    Cuensheley offered no further observations, and when the flunkey returned to say that the Lord Archivist was available, they walked in silence through the columns and passages of the inner Archive, until they reached a red plastic door. This was opened for them.
    The chamber they entered was long and narrow, painted white, with lunar decorations picked out here and there in yellow. A blue stellar carpet lay on the floor. At the far end sat Querhidwe, partially visible amongst a pile of crescent cushions also decked yellow. She looked up from the book she was reading to gesture them forward. Dwllis took the lead, until he stood a few yards away.
    ‘Good day, Lord Archivist,’ he said. ‘Thank you for this audience. This is Yardkeeper Cuensheley of the Copper Courtyard.’
    Querhidwe was a ragged-looking pyuton, dressed in a one-piece suit of unbleached material, her dark hair tousled, her boots dusty. Rumour claimed she was of unstable character. She put down her book and said, ‘Why have you come today?’
    Dwllis coughed and rearranged his coat to make his speech seem more important. ‘Madam, I have witnessed two peculiar events, both related to your august Archive. In my noble capacity as Keeper of–’
    ‘Get on with it, man, for Selene’s sake.’
    ‘Indeed. The first event involves scribes and recorders of Selene making trouble in the Cemetery, and the second is the astonishing disappearance of a gnostician into your building.’
    ‘You said this has something to do with you?’
    Dwllis nodded. ‘Madam, even one as genteel as I hears rumours. Folk speak of factions emerging within the Archive of Selene.’
    Querhidwe grumpily replied, ‘Let them. Is this all you had to say?’
    ‘It is a matter of concern.’
    Querhidwe waved him away. ‘I suggest you limit your concerns to the Cemetery and the Swamps.’
    Thus chastised, they departed. Dwllis said to Cuensheley, ‘There is something afoot. The Archive of Selene is experiencing difficulties. Unless I am much mistaken we have just been brushed off.’
    Cuensheley nodded. ‘I wonder what’s going on?’
    Dwllis took a deep breath. ‘It is my duty to find out.’
    ~
    Under night gloom the surface of the Swamps twinkled.
    Bubbles popped as gases rose from the pulsating depths. Through the biochemical glitter on the surface a multitude of tiny creatures scurried, some insectoid, others pincer wielding, still others hopping on padded feet, so that a maze of dark trails was left entangled amongst the rushes and broken stalks. Occasionally a purple glider would drop on silent wings to snap up the unwary. Elsewhere, cloaked gentlemen on punts pushed their weary way from an island in the centre of the Swamps to certain outposts, secret and disguised at the perimeter wall.
    Free of fog, to the south, a dark and bubbling morass lay