The White Order (The Saga of Recluce #8)(64)

“I'm better with the old tongue,” Cerryl admitted. “Thank you.” The mage nodded and turned out of the doorway and toward Tellis. Cerryl listened.

“Was there anything back there?” asked the woman mage. “Just the apprentice, and an alchemist's book to be copied.” A deep laugh followed. “I think we can go, Anya.”

“Thank you, master scrivener.”

The front door closed, and Tellis stepped back into the workroom. His forehead was glazed with sweat. Cerryl knew his own forehead was damp as well.

“The bearded one. What did he want?” asked Tellis. “He wanted to know if I were your only apprentice. I said I was.”

“What have you done, Cerryl?” Tellis's voice sharpened. “What have you done?”

“Nothing.” The apprentice looked helplessly at the scrivener. “I can't think of anything out of the ordinary. I've read the books, run errands, and copied things, I've never even been close to their tower.”

“Do you know any black mages?” The bushy eyebrows seemed to stand out as the scrivener peered at his apprentice.

Cerryl looked directly at Tellis, meeting his eyes squarely. “Ser, I wouldn't know a black mage if he appeared in the front room.”

“I don't understand. I've been so careful.” Tellis fingered his bare chin. “Why would they be here?” He looked at Cerryl again. “Are you sure you don't know anything about this?”

“Ser,” Cerryl said carefully, “we've all felt we've been watched. Beryal said something about that. I've felt people were looking from the alleyway.” He shrugged again. “I haven't done anything any different. I haven't stolen anything. I haven't insulted anyone. I haven't gone anyplace I wasn't supposed to go.”

“Then why did the white mages come in here? They didn't want a book. They asked me about a forbidden book.”

“They asked about The Book of Ayrlyn. You've never said anything about it. What is it?” Cerryl glanced at Tellis. “Why would they ask about that? You only copy the books they want.”

“That's just it.” The scrivener fingered his chin once more, frowning. “I don't know why they asked that.”

“I don't know what the book is,” Cerryl suggested obliquely, hoping Tellis would offer a clue.

“Oh... one of the old forgeries. It's supposed to be the story of one of the ancient black angels. It couldn't be. There's nothing from that time. They didn't have scriveners. The Guild would know.”

“So they're looking for a forgery? They should know you better than that.”

“They should,” Tellis agreed. “You haven't been copying anything else, have you?”

“No, ser. I haven't copied a line you haven't told me to. Not one.”

“I believe you.” Tellis frowned again. “But it doesn't make sense. What could they possibly be looking for?”

Me, Cerryl wanted to answer. But why? It can't because of Uncle Syodor and Aunt Nail. They'd already have turned chaos on me. “They act like they're looking for something, but maybe they're asking all the scriveners or people who might have books. They didn't seem upset when they left.”

“That's true.” Tellis's face brightened slightly. “They just take people away for the road if they've done something wrong.” A furrow crossed his forehead. “It is troubling, though.”

“Yes.” Cerryl had to cough to clear his throat. “I could barely answer when he stood there.”

“You see why you don't ever want to cross them? They know almost everything.”

“Yes, ser.” Cerryl only hoped they didn't know absolutely everything. His stomach remained clenched in knots, and every word felt like an effort. He knew there would be no more warm water, and no more reading of forbidden books-not for a long, long time.

He swallowed.

“Well... white mages or not... you've copying to do.” Tellis's voice sounded forced, and he wiped his forehead.

“Yes, ser.” Cerryl feared his own voice sounded equally false.

“Take out that ink and get to it, then.”

“I filled the stands already.” Cerryl stepped toward the copy desk.

“Good. I need to go over to Nivor's. It won't be more than a moment or two. You see what you can do. Skip the illustrations on the overleaf. I'll do those. You start on the main text.”

Cerryl took out his penknife, hoping his hands would not shake too much, hoping Tellis would leave and that he could gather himself together.

“Keep the letter width thin.” Tellis stood by the workroom door for a moment, then jerked his head away. The door closed firmly, almost as though it had been slammed.

Cerryl just sat on the stool for a time before his hands stopped shaking, and before he dared to sharpen the quill.





White Order





XLIV




Cerryl rubbed his eyes, then picked up the chamber pot and trudged out through the courtyard and through the gate to the sewer catch, still in his tattered nightshirt and half-wondering why he bothered.

Because some white mage probably tracks all the sewer dumps. He frowned, then lifted the lid and held his breath as he dumped out the odoriferous contents into the even more concentrated and noxious wastes that flowed through what seemed to be a large runnel of fired and glazed brick. How many kays of such runnels ran beneath Fairhaven ... and why? So that the city smelled a little better?