AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I thought you said two?”
“That’s for an uncredentialed ambassador. Sixmonth is as a Hypatian librarian. If she still is a librarian,” he added, eyeing the head librarian. “I don’t know what librarian policies are for dividing allegiance. We optimates ensure that affairs of Directory are run smoothly and fairly, and such matters fall outside our province.”
“Good. I need an expert to explain all this to my Tyr,” Wistala said. She reached out and picked Ansab up by his robes. “I’m taking you because you show some fat on you,” she said out of the side of her mouth. “I’m afraid that thin one will perish in the cold at the higher altitudes.”
“Wha—Put me down!” Ansab squawked. “Help! Paffle!”
Wistala thought he smelled like a wet chicken.
“Oh, dear,” Paffle said. “If you’re going to carry someone off, couldn’t you just grab an arbiter? They’re more accustomed to travel.”
“Paffle!”
Wistala gave her wings an experimental beat and Ansab screamed. “Don’t worry. It’s just four or five hard days to the Lavadome. You won’t lose too many toes.”
“L-Lavadome?” Ansab asked.
“Yes.”
“I thought that was a myth,” the head librarian said.
“No, it’s where the Tyr lives,” Wistala said. “He always has room on his agenda. I just hope he’s in a good mood when I have to explain why threescore dragons wasted their time coming to save your miserable hide.”
“Are there really demen with whips?” Paffle asked, looking livelier than he had the whole conversation. “Hold your temper, Ansab, old fellow. A full court bow would be best. You’ll be the laughing-stock of the baths if you’re all striped from the lash.”
“Shut up, you old fool,” Ansab shouted. “We’ll put you on this afternoon’s agenda. Just put me down!”
“Thank you,” Wistala said. “I doubt that fine robe would have held you the whole way.”
Ansab plucked at a bit of torn cording. “It’s ruined as is.”
“Oh, that was wonderful,” Paffle said. “I’ll buy you a new robe, and count the price cheap in return for the entertainment.”
“Your librarians should have better manners,” Ansab said, glowering at the head librarian.
“She is a dragon, optimate. She’s something of a librarian-at-large. It’s Thallia’s doing, anyway. They just use naming a dragon among their staff as a way to raise funds. Never fails to impress the patrons when they read out her account of the Wheel of Fire-Varvar war. I hope I do not give offense, Wistala.”
“I labored hard over that account,” Wistala said. “I’m glad it’s of some use.”
They brought Wistala up the high road, which ran through the city between the old gates and the Ziggurat. A sort of mobile crowd followed, being dribbled away from and added to as they passed up the elevated road.
It was a pleasant walk. The high road ran two or three humans high most of the way and was flanked by columns with statues of the great figures of Hypatia. Wistala saw bearded dwarves with modest visors partly shielding their faces, elves with victory garlands growing in their hair, and men. There was even a blighter carrying a hammer and chisel.
“Doklahk, a celebrated stonemason,” the head librarian said as he walked next to her, following the optimates. Evidently his duties at the library school weighed lightly enough so he could come to the Directory and watch events.
She wondered if Rainfall’s grandsire was among the statues.
Flanking the high road were two streams of flowing water. Smaller channels and even pipes diverted the flow off among the rooftops to other quarters of the city.
“Hypat is a city of baths and gardens,” Paffle said, puffing even on such a slight incline. “You need a good deal of water for either.”
“Water!” Ansab said. “Any beaver can claim the same level of civilization. Lamps are the glory of Hypatia. Two thousand public lamps, twice that about private domiciles, and a whaling fleet to keep them lit.”
“They’re both wrong,” the head librarian whispered. “Courts where citizens can get a fair hearing and criminals a fair punishment—that’s our glory. The Ghioz, whom all seem to praise for their vigor in war and commerce, know only the rich man’s law, where wealth and justice are one.”
Laborers lounged outside the water-house that somehow fed the streams lining the high road and others descending from the Temple Hill. They circled north around the hill and came to a round building of vaguely bluish marble, columned outside and in, with dozens of stairways. Vendors and idlers and messengers lounged, sold, or hurried as their duties required.
They passed up the stairs. The only armed men she’d seen, guards in purple, white, and gold, stood on pedestals overlooking the stairs and shifted doubtfully as she approached. The guards looked to Ansab and Paffle for guidance and relaxed when they smiled and announced her as a citizen and dignitary. She didn’t blame them. Their spears appeared more ceremonial than functional, and their great square shields had so much artwork on them she doubted they could be easily braced in battle.
