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“Thank you,” cried Lirael. It came out as a croak, so she had to say it again. “Thank you.”
“There is one more thing,” said Sanar, and she came and stood so close that Lirael had to look up and meet her eyes. “You heard talk today that you should not have heard. Indeed, you have seen a visit that did not take place. The stability of a Kingdom is a fragile thing, Lirael, and easily upset. Sabriel and Touchstone would not speak so freely elsewhere, or to a different audience.”
“I won’t say anything to anyone,” said Lirael. “I don’t talk, really.”
“You won’t remember,” said Ryelle, who had moved around behind her. She gently released the spell she’d held ready, cupped in her hand. Before Lirael could even think about countering it, a chain of bright Charter marks fell over her head, gripping her at the temples.
“At least not until you need to remember,” continued Ryelle. “You will recall everything you have done today, save the visit of Sabriel and Touchstone. That memory will be gone, replaced by a walk on the terrace, and a chance meeting with us here. You seemed troubled, so we talked of work and the gaining of the Sight. That is how you gained your new post, Lirael. You will remember that, and no more.”
“Yes,” replied Lirael, words rolling off her lips so slowly that she seemed to be drunk or incredibly tired. “The Library. Tomorrow I report to Vancelle.”
Chapter Six
Third Assistant Librarian
The Chief Librarian had a large oak-paneled office, with a very long desk that was covered in books, papers, and a large brass tray with that morning’s breakfast still half-eaten upon it. There was also a long, silver-bladed sword on the desk, unsheathed, with its hilt close to the Librarian’s hand.
Lirael stood in front of the desk, her head bowed, as Vancelle read the note the girl had brought from Sanar and Ryelle.
“So,” said the Librarian, her deep, commanding voice making Lirael jump. “You want to be a librarian?”
“Y-yes,” stammered Lirael.
“But are you suitable?” asked the Librarian. She touched the hilt of her sword, and for a moment Lirael thought Vancelle was going to pick it up and wave it around, to see if it frightened her.
Lirael was already frightened. The Librarian scared her, even without the sword. Her face gave away no feelings, and she moved with an economy of force, as if she might at any moment explode into violent action.
“Are you suitable?” asked the Librarian.
“Um, I don’t . . . I don’t know,” whispered Lirael.
The Librarian came out from behind her desk, so swiftly that Lirael wasn’t sure if she’d blinked and missed the motion.
Vancelle was only slightly taller than Lirael, but she seemed to loom over the young girl. Her eyes were bright blue, and her hair was a soft, shining grey, like the finest ash left from a cooling fire. She wore many rings on her fingers, and on her left wrist there was a silver bracelet set with seven sparkling emeralds and nine rubies. It was impossible to guess her age.
Lirael trembled as the Librarian reached out and touched the Charter mark on her forehead. She felt it flare, warm on her skin, and saw the light reflected in the Librarian’s bejeweled rings and bracelet.
Whatever the Librarian felt in Lirael’s Charter mark, no sign of it showed upon her face. She withdrew her hand and walked back behind her desk. Once again, she touched the hilt of her sword.
“We have never taken on a librarian whom we haven’t already Seen as being a librarian,” she said, tilting her head, like someone puzzling over how to hang a painting. “But no one has ever Seen you at all, have they?”
Lirael felt her mouth dry up. Unable to speak, she nodded. She felt the sudden opportunity that had been granted her slipping away. The reprieve, the chance of work, of being someone—
“So you are a mystery,” continued the Librarian. “But there is no better place for mystery than the Great Library of the Clayr—and it is better to be a librarian than part of the collection.”
For a moment, Lirael didn’t understand. Then hope blossomed in her again, and she found her voice. “You mean . . . you mean I am suitable?”
“Yes,” said Vancelle, Chief Librarian of the Great Library of the Clayr. “You are suitable, and you may begin at once. Deputy Librarian Ness will tell you what to do.”
Lirael left in a daze of happiness. She had survived the ordeal. She had been accepted. She was going to be a librarian!
Deputy Librarian Ness merely sniffed at Lirael and sent her to First Assistant Librarian Roslin, who kissed her absently on the cheek and sent her to Second Assistant Librarian Imshi, who was only twenty and not long promoted from the yellow silk waistcoat of a Third Assistant to the red of a Second.
Imshi took Lirael to the Robing Room, a huge room full of all the equipment, weapons, and miscellaneous items the librarians needed, from climbing ropes to boathooks. And dozens and dozens of the special Library waistcoats, all in different sizes and colors.
“Third Assistant’s yellow, Second Assistant’s red, First Assistant’s blue, Deputy is white, and the Chief wears black,” explained Imshi, as she helped Lirael put on a brand-new yellow waistcoat over her working clothes. “Heavier than it looks, isn’t it? That’s because it’s actually canvas, covered in silk. Much tougher that way. Now, this whistle clips on the lapel loops here, so you can bend your head and blow into it, even if something’s holding your arms. But you should whistle only if you really need help. If you hear a whistle, run towards the sound and do whatever you can to help.”
Lirael took the whistle, which was a simple brass pipe, and put it through the special lapel loops as instructed. As Imshi had said, she could easily blow into it just by lowering her head. But what did Imshi mean? What might be holding her arms?
“Of course, the whistle’s good only when someone can hear it,” continued Imshi, handing Lirael something that at first glance looked like a silver ball. She indicated that it should be placed in the front left pocket of her new waistcoat. “That’s why you have the mouse. It’s part clockwork, so you have to remember to wind it once a month, and the spell has to be renewed every year at Midsummer.”
Lirael looked at the small silver object. It was a mouse with little mechanical legs, two bright chips of ruby for eyes, and a small key in its back. She could feel the warmth of a Charter-spell lying dormant inside it. She supposed that this would activate the clockwork mechanism at the right time and send it wherever it was supposed to go.
“What’s it do?” Lirael asked, surpris
ing Imshi a little. The younger girl hadn’t spoken since they’d been introduced, and had stood there with her hair hanging over her face the whole time. Imshi had already written her off as one of the Chief’s eccentric recruitment decisions, but perhaps there was still hope. She sounded interested, anyway.
“It gets help,” replied Imshi. “If you’re in the Old Levels or somewhere you don’t think anyone will hear the whistle, put the mouse on the ground and speak or draw the activating mark, which I’ll show you in a moment. Once it’s activated, it’ll run to the Reading Room and sound the alarm.”
Lirael nodded and flicked back her hair to study the mouse more closely, running her finger over its silver back. When Imshi started to thumb through an index of Charter marks, Lirael shook her head and put the mouse in its special pocket.
“I know the mark, thanks,” she said quietly. “I felt it in the spell.”
“Really?” asked Imshi, surprised again. “You must be good. I can hardly manage to light a candle, or warm my toes out on the glacier.”
But you have the Sight, thought Lirael. You are a real Clayr.
“Anyway, you have the whistle and the mouse,” said Imshi, getting back to her task. “Here’s your belt and scabbard, and I’ll just see which dagger is sharpest. Ow! That’ll do, I think. Now we have to put the number in the book, and you have to sign for everything.”
Lirael buckled on the broad leather belt and settled the scabbard against her hip and thigh. The dagger that went into it was as long as her forearm, with a thin, sharp blade. It was steel but had been washed in silver, and there were Charter marks on the blade. Lirael touched them lightly with her finger, to see what they were supposed to do. They warmed under her touch, and she recognized them as marks of breaking and unraveling, especially useful against Free Magic creatures. They had been put there some twenty years ago, replacing older marks that had worn out. These too would last only another ten years or so, as they had not been placed with any great power or skill. Lirael thought she could possibly do better herself, though she wasn’t particularly adept at working magic on inanimate objects.
