Chương 19: Dusty old books

Miss Parlthrop was an anomaly. Of all the gods who might accept a person into the upper ranks of their clergy while also being bound to a demon, Corvax, Death herself, would be one of the very few who could agree to such an arrangement. But it was still a massive stretch. All Pattern Verses had both a celestial and an infernal cohort. The details varied from world to world, but Death was ubiquitous wherever life existed.

Most living beings, even those barely able to grasp the concept of life, like single celled organisms, math teachers, and parking attendants, understood on some fundamental level that one day they would cease to exist. So while some places might not have a Pattern God of Knitwear, every verse got the classics like Death. Not everyone who died went to another world to be reborn as an Outremonde, an otherworlder, which was how I'd gotten my start in this crappy line of work.

Most were so unremarkable, you know who you are, that the universe has no interest in allowing you to go and mess up a new world with your boring ways. Reincarnation, while it happened to millions of souls every day, was the fate of only a tiny handful of the total number of souls in the multiverse. A vanishingly small proportion got another shot at life. So every verse had heavens and hells for those deemed too dull for further adventures. A cold war usually existed between the deities and demons.

Most of the time, it was a collegial distaste rather than outright hostility. Bridging that divide was no easy feat, yet this remarkable woman had managed it. Veran Alyth Parlthrop Mortis Maiden Level 57 STR 14 AGI 21 MAG 72 ARM 9 Her hand met mine firmly. I could feel the pressure, but not the warmth. I glanced down, and my eyes flared for a moment before I could control myself. Perfect, clean mana channels and her natural mana affinity was almost pure death. Magically, she was almost completely attuned.

"I am bound to Vynnithnop of the Fourth Circle. He says hello, emissary."

"Sup, Vynni." The tadpole in her sclera wiggled back and forth at me.

"The Circle of Consumption. Rot and decay." Her innate abilities would be terrifying, the kill you with a word kind of stuff, then your body would dissolve into goo and dust. Add onto those any spellcraft she might have picked up along the way. She was likely a formidable lady.

"Hence, my Lady was willing to compromise and share my affections. What lies in the von Heffleslump boy's future to warrant your presence among us lowly mortals?" She returned to her seat, and I lowered myself into the free one. The Headmaster slid a glass of amber liquid across the table to her, which she sipped from like a hummingbird tasting nectar. There would be no nine AM scotch for the skellie. I drew on my cigar with a suppressed sigh.

"There is an unwefting, probably an unravelling, in all your futures. The kid is going to stop it." No point lying, Corvax would probably let her know if I tried to.

"That… is troubling," she said softly.

"It's crazy! The boy is talented, but he's not equipped for that sort of responsibility. How much time do we have?" demanded Ungore.

"I don't know. Madam," I turned to Parlthrop, "what do you know of the necromancer cults operating within the city?"

"Call me Veran, please. There are always a few unsanctioned death cults. Nobles seeking lichdom, greedy merchants, bored housewives who favour heavy eyeshadow, that kind of thing. They don't amount to much, and my Lady will step in if they go too far. But there are no necromancer cults operating inside the walls."

"You aren't native to Nadrack. The Reach?" I asked. Her accent and the structure of her name seemed to match my notes on the Bailin Reach.

"Yes. I grew up in Breakwater and came here before the airships were lost."

"But you've kept your accent and haven't married into a local house. You're still an outsider here. Almost as much as I am." She nodded, her hair swaying back and forth.

"Not quite so much as that, but yes. You think I am excluded from local society and not as well-informed as I could be. You would be wrong. Why are you so certain there is a necromancer cult in Nadrack?"

"I stumbled upon some fairly convincing evidence in the Moulders last night."

"Last night?" she asked.

"It's amazing how productive you become when you can't sleep."

"Or have any of those other pesky biological impulses distracting you?" The left side of her lip curved upward ever so slightly.

"Where?"

"I'm not willing to divulge that information at this time." My near-future plans included looting that laboratory as thoroughly as bonily possible. Every book and item of value was going to end up in my necroshed or sold off on Clipper Street. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

"You expect us to trust you?"

"Ask Vynni and Corvax if I'm lying." Ungore's head swivelled to focus on the warlock, and he blew out his moustaches, earning a glance from Veran.

"You know my thoughts," he muttered, leaning back in his chair and sipping his whisky.

"Pfft. Ignorant superstition." She gave him a bright smile to take the sting out of her words, but he snorted and looked away.

"Well?" I asked, catching her attention once more.

"Neither of them knows what you're talking about," she said after a moment.

"But they both think you're telling the truth."

"Because I am. If Vynni doesn't have any imps out in the Moulders, maybe you could send a ghast?" I asked.

"She's bound to the Academy," Ungore muttered.

"Veran doesn't have any other summons. Or do you?" he fixed her with a fluffy-eyebrowed glare.

"No, just the one. The Grave Guard would know what was going on. I can get their logs sent up. Anything unusual in the last week—" Ungore began.

"Months. It's been in the works for a while." In addition to being true, that would help provide more evidence to work on than my own escape yesterday. Tonight would likely be my last chance to raid the lab again.

"Fine, six months," he conceded.

"It will take them some time to release the records. I'll have to call in a few favours."

"I'd like to visit your library before I rejoin Bork?"

"You don't want to drop any other bombshells on us?" Veran asked wryly. I briefly considered discussing the ghastly lie in the room, but figured now wasn't the time. Whatever was going on, the impression wasn't acting according to its nature, so it was probably a low priority for the time being.

"Not at this time. I imagine you'd like to have a private conversation about me?" I asked. Ungore grunted in affirmation.

"I'll arrange a monitor to take you to the library, then to Bork's class."

"Thank you both. If I stumble on any further information, I'll be sure to pass it along."

"Is there anything I can do? To help Bork," Veran said, laying a hand on my wrist as I rose to my feet. How much could I trust this woman? She owed an allegiance to a god and a demon, had a facet of power from outside the multiverse under her control, and was distractingly attractive.

"You have very fine mana channels. How confident are you in imbuing enchantments?"

"You can see them?" She pulled away and crossed her arms across her chest. Wiggling in discomfort, she pulled her grey shawl up and across her body. I plinked a finger against a glowing eyesocket.

"These eyes see more than they should." She hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly at me.

"I am passable, but master de Blovenstein would be a better choice."

"He doesn't like me." I gave a bony shrug.

"Not the most accepting of the unliving."

"Come to my office during the lunch break. I'll see what I can do."

"My thanks, Miss Parlthrop. Headmaster." I nodded respectfully at the florid man and headed for the door. Once outside, I resisted the urge to try to eavesdrop. Vynni would know, and demons were far less restrained when it came to blabbing to their mortal partners than gods. The door opened ahead of me, a new monitor waiting inside. She stepped to her left as I entered, keeping her distance. She quirked an eyebrow at me.

"The library, please, Miss." Her fingers flickered, and the door slid back open. A tilt of the head was all the invitation to exit I was going to get. An ivory hand ran its way back across my skull, a cruel echo of the sensation of running my hand through my hair. This anti-undead shit was going to get tiresome. Ahead of me lay a large desk, behind which sat a severe-looking woman. Grey hair, pulled back into a tight bun, above wrinkles that somehow insisted on perfect perpendicularity, only spreading horizontally.

Her cream dress was straight-cut and belted at the middle with blackened leather. Halfmoon spectacles perched on a hawkish nose, the arms of which were linked by a thin silver chain that blended with her hair, securing them in place.

"Can I help you?" Her voice suggested that her idea of help was an exorcism, not that it would work on me, or grinding me to dust and sprinkling me over a cliff somewhere.

"I'm looking for genealogies, please, ma'am?"

"Second floor, end of the third stack." She flicked a thumb over her shoulder towards a spiralling staircase that wound up seven stories. Ten-foot-tall shelves formed ranks along the massive room, lined with scrolls, leather-bound books and stone tablets. Seven sets of stairs formed a circle around this central area. The doorway to the magical elevator stood like a hut in the oval open space in the centre of the library. The woman who I imagined could shush you at five hundred yards sat at her desk opposite it.

Magical lights hung on wires from the distant ceiling, very sensibly keeping fire out of what amounted to an inferno waiting to happen. The stacks weren't numbered, and there were dozens of them radiating away from the railings that lined the mezzanine. After a bit of trial and error, she had meant the second stack to the right of the stairs I'd been pointed to. Bloodlines of the Rich and Famous, de Ballustrade's On Nobility, and Great Families of Nadrack took me about an hour to find.

I'd had to levitate up on my shields to find On Nobility. The three of them seemed the most likely to provide me with the information I needed. The shelves were filled with volumes and volumes covering single houses, but de Varlspain wasn't listed among them. Bloodlines turned out to be useless. I'd taken the books to one of the desks that were interspersed in the gaps between the shelves and pulled the light down lower to see better in the gloom. It read more like a comic book.

Major houses were listed without any kind of sensible order, starting with the lay of House de Lyronvart, who had gone on to become the royal family. Propaganda. I slammed the covers shut, wincing in anticipation of a barked order to be silent, which didn't come. Skimming On Nobility was equally pointless as well. The blurb had completely misrepresented the contents.

Instead of a history of noble houses, it was the story of the city told from the perspective of the various nobles who did the great or villainous deeds. Interestingly enough, it differed rather significantly from the briefing I'd received from Abarama. I was starting to suspect either old Aba had it in for me, or something was rotten in the city of Nadrak. Great Houses of Nadrack had only a single paragraph under the de Varlspain entry.

"House de Varlspain was excised root and limb from the mighty and glorious city-state of Nadrak. Edvard, the patriarch, and all the adult males were executed, their bodies reduced to gas and ash for their part in the Steel Wind disaster. The women and children were exiled into the wastelands they had rendered uncrossable, destined to die in the wilderness for the sins of their fathers."

"The prodigal son has returned, and he wants to roast the fatted calf," I muttered.

"Be quiet," the librarian whispered, six inches from my earhole.