“I will consult with Her Majesty,” Avice said. “No one is to touch these crates until I return. You,” she pointed at two of the guards, “stand watch while I am gone.”
The other guards followed the Bondmaiden out. It felt like the very air grew warmer as she left.
“Master,” came a whisper, and Jacoben felt the warmth of other bodies around him.
He came to himself to find he was surrounded by his staff. Copyists, archivists, friends. Worried faces, all looking to him.
“We should return to our duties,” he choked out. “These boxes are not to be touched until we receive instructions from the Queen. We will work around the clutter. Move your things and use the desks towards the back.”
“Yes, Master.” Their voices were quiet as they bowed away, retreating to their usual desks.
Jacoben brushed off the front of his tunic and returned to his desk, glancing at the papers there. “Apprentice Hulbert, did you find that Second Age reference for me?”
“No, Master,” came the response from the boy, his pudgy face stark white, his cheeks two spots of red. His dark eyes glanced at the guards, then lowered. “Perhaps it has been mis-shelved. I will look again.”
Good lad, Jacoben thought, though he merely nodded. He returned to work as the others gathered their things and moved away. The pair of guards kept their distance, standing together near the main door, chatting with each other.
After what seemed like forever, Hulbert called from the back. “I have it here, Master. Shall I bring it out?”
“No,” Jacoben rose. “I will come.”
As he expected, his people were gathered together, huddled among the farthest stacks. They gathered close to him, like stoop-shouldered, ink-stained chicks.
“What shall we do?” one whispered. A few looked over their shoulders toward the main door, their fear plain.
“There are many new faces,” another said, wringing ink-stained fingers.
“That new Housekeeper is not to be trusted,” a third growled.
Jacoben gathered them even closer, whispering. “We will keep ourselves and the collection safe. We will do as we are commanded.”
“But—”
“We will continue the work of this archive. The King has commanded us to search out any reference to atira blades, no matter how vague. The Queen will have little choice but to allow us to go through Orval’s collection, or—” he swallowed hard, “any other materials that come into our possession.” He took a breath. “And if we organize and preserve as we go, who is to say we err?”
Nods all around.
“We will review all new acquisitions according to our standard procedures,” he reminded them. “Through methods that take time and care. In an orderly fashion, so that we do not miss a single reference to atira blades.”
They were calming, thinking of the work ahead.
“We will send their Majesties a daily report, to keep their interest and show our co-operation.” Jacoben nodded, the idea forming even as he spoke. “We will keep safe and quiet.”
“What if we find one?” Ansella, the youngest apprentice, asked, with wide-eyed hope. “Might the King come here? To the Library?”
Hulbert opened his mouth to argue.
“Ansella,” Jacoben chided her even as the others chuckled. “It’s a myth, from the Golden Age of Xy. Hundreds of years and no one has found an atira blade yet.” He straightened, lifting his chin. “Although if one is to be found, I am sure we would be the ones to find the reference.”
Soft chuckles all around. They were justifiably proud of their abilities.
“What of those research requests?” Hulbert asked.
“We will send our regrets and explain the new procedures in ways that provide a carefully worded warning. We will note that all requests are reviewed and noted and that there might be…further acquisitions.”
Light was dawning in their eyes as they began to understand him.
“But Master,” Hulbert reminded him, “The crates will still be sealed, the knowledge contained within still not accessible.”
