For reasons he couldn’t name, Quill found humor in the headlines that morning. Bookstores, and, he presumed, his humble library, would be searched, and a crackdown on fences had been pronounced. He thought to himself that clearly it had been deemed insufficient to warn booksellers against dubious antiques, and if they were extending greater than usual intolerance towards fences, they were grasping at straws. He was glad the purchases by the library were all from legitimate merchants. But then there was Noue, but he didn’t think she had anything to do with the library.
It was then that he felt a vague pressure in his head, and looking around he saw a woman he thought he recognized from the Church narthex through the front window of his apartment. However, before he could register more than dark bangs, she ducked out of sight and the pressure behind his eyes abated. He sighed. He didn’t like the thought of someone rifling through his thoughts, which is what he associated that pressure with. Even when Glue… but when had Glue rifled through his thoughts? He shouldn’t presume that they would do that, even if they were a doctor of the mind. His own mind was hale and hearty and not. Quill cackled. He was a man of habit, not criminal nor insane at all, but the question of whether he was brought forth intense laughter.
Perhaps it was time for a vacation. The oppressive cold, the grim sight of the frozen homeless that confronted him on every walk, confrontational people rifling through his thoughts or just assuming that they could ask him about Incarnism in place of doing their own research, it was all adding up. And Coldpass was growing dangerous, the Earth Guild had been bombed. Perhaps Denouement could accompany him on a vacation somewhere warm. The Fireplains were warm, sometimes a little too warm, but the month of Libra was still well after the hottest days of Hot. He quirked a smile. Surely there was a better term for the months of Cancer, Leo, and Virgo. Of course, one mustn’t go too far; Mind was infamously incomprehensible with its seasons of Priest, Noble, Officer, and Trade. Even Quill, without recourse to his axiom of lore, could only recall which was which by reciting to himself the order he had learned them in.
Mind was a curious place. Then again, he supposed Coldpass was no less absurd in concept. An artificial volcano wrought by a fire dragon in the midst of a glacier-covered mountain. Dragons truly were masters of their elements, for such a feat would be beyond even a circle of sorcerers; yet by the efforts of, so far as they knew, one dragon, the city of Coldpass heated itself with the volcanism of the Barbary Range. Then, too, there was the matter of frozen bodies being left until they were ready to be disposed of, because of the periodic pulses of necromantic energy radiating from Mount Barber itself. By comparison, the ticking construct pigeons and strange renunciation of land rights outside the cities of Mind were practically normal. But enough reminiscing. When had he visited Mind anyway? He must have read about it.
On his way to work, he checked the loose brick in the wall of the library. There was once more a scrap of parchment, this one enigmatically asking, “Handoff?” He pocketed the paper with a shrug, and deposited it in a dustbin inside the library. Within, things were the usual Monday chaos, as though nobody could recall how things worked after a day and a half off. He almost, but only almost, saw the merits of those who called for abolishment of the weekend. His own politics leaned in the opposite direction, but he would still dutifully work five and a half days each week, because a library that wasn’t open outside work hours could not do nearly so much good. Education ought to be every citizen’s right. Quill prided himself on the library’s stock of scholarly texts, though it paled in comparison to the grand library of Repose.
That trip he remembered well. He had been introduced to his axiom of lore in one of the ritual chambers of that library. Or he thought he remembered it well, he was at a loss as to why he had gotten an introduction to so potent a spirit. But he was woolgathering, while his volunteers were at loose ends, standing about or half-heartedly setting up for the day. One of them was even starting to consult a scrap of parchment for the blackboard, a task Quill made sure to oversee personally. He called everyone together and got them organized and on-task before erasing the scrawlings on the blackboard. It wasn’t that they were wrong, per se, it was just that he liked to do them himself, particularly the block letters of the day’s library headline. Today was actually rightfully bookstore business, but Chapter rarely minded a second window of advertisement. “Tomorrow, 5% off the cost of all books!”
He was nearly finished putting down the more pedestrian library news when he heard a dreadfully familiar tentative throat clearing behind him. “Excuse me for interrupting,” the individual began, who could always have not interrupted, if he wanted to be excused. “But I saw you in the narthex of the Pyramid Church and I was wondering why you attend Church if you’re an… Incarnate? I have the right term?” Quill sighed and turned to engage with the man. He was a not-unattractive gentleman sweating beneath a greatcoat in the heated library, but Quill found himself finding fault with points of fashion and grooming out of his irritation at being asked about his faith. The question wasn’t that big an offense in and of itself, but was he put on Orth just to be annoyed? Every day he answered questions there were plentiful books he’d seen to it himself the library possessed. He took a centering breath, the indulgence he permitted himself in exchange for the gracious treatment of potential patrons, and directed the man towards the religion and philosophy shelves. He mentioned that there was in particular a treatise on Incarnate Wholism by the great mystic Domino von Repose of Condemnation. Clearly disappointed, but not rude enough to press, the man checked the text out under Quill’s watchful eye.
Lunch came at what seemed to Quill a reasonable pace, one hour earlier than the trades to make the library available to the greatest number of people. He dug his lunch out of the snow in something of a hurry, looking forward to lunch with, he thought with relish the slightly intimate nickname, Noue.
She wore the same mint rune branded coat, standing out for the thin fabric on a brisk day. Though, to be fair, she was standing with a bag of pastries by the same go table they had met at several times now. Quill wondered whether she played go at all. She had the mental acuity for it, but it was said that there were go people and there were chess people, and he didn’t know which they played in the Fireplains. He was not so distant that he could surreptitiously cut his thumb to conjure forth his axiom of lore, so he resolved to ask another time.
Once again she kissed his cheek in a familiar gesture he ought not allow but was powerless to resist. This time, he noticed that he was reflexively bending at the waist even with her standing on tiptoe, the differences in their heights not quite having registered when he was distracted by whatever had been distracting him the night she first kissed him. She once more had curry buns and coffee, and she smiled when he asked to verify that they were Fireplains comforts.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Encouraged, he inquired as to whether she enjoyed go. At that, she made a face and said that she required more stakes for something to hold her interest. He proposed placing a wager upon the game, and while she raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, she said she would respectfully decline when he clearly had passion and experience surpassing her own. She bit her lip nervously and looked around, and asked a question he realized he had been about to ask himself, whether they could meet that evening. He nodded, and while he expected his unruly, unbusinesslike mind to thrill at the prospect, he found himself instead vague but motivated to meet with her. Something in her countenance, perhaps, made the difference and suggested she had more than flirtation intended. Nonetheless, he sincerely made sure to give his word to conduct himself as a gentleman.
She laughed again, and said she had seen the kind smile on his face at the Church youth group; no man who loved children would conduct himself as anything but or he would never have issue of his own. He replied that if he found the company of women distasteful he could always adopt. But evidently he bore up far too easily under the weight of her affection to have distaste for her company. But on that subject, why hadn’t he adopted. Or at least, he assumed she was going to ask that, but she trailed off and shook her head, murmuring that he should never mind such a question. He had no ready answer, though he knew it was not in his immediate future. They finished their lunches soberly, and Quill returned to the library knowing the day would drag waiting for his evening meeting with Noue.
It was not to be so. He returned to the library to find a squadron of what was clearly Tome’s personal guard, livery of red and blue-gray common to most fire dragons. How often had he encountered soldiers of dragons? Leading them in nondescript brown leathers was a woman who introduced herself as Decontextualized, without state of origin or maternal parent. As the library opened from lunch in less than a sandglass, he had that much time before Tome’s guard would break down the door. She didn’t say as much, he simply faced a strong mental image of that being the result of any delay. Contrary to that, she spoke very politely to “Librarian Quill.” She asked that he kindly lead them through the library. They were informed he knew the nooks and crannies a book could get lost in much better than anyone else, and so they elected to wait for him. Lost, clearly, was a euphemism for “concealed,” but if she would conduct herself civilly, he would as well.
He felt the beginnings of a headache come on, and as he guided Decontextualized through the library it only grew. By the time they got to the offices, his head hurt badly enough that he slumped into a chair, handing over his keys to one of Tome’s guard. Decontextualized patted his back in sympathy, confiding that she had dealt with headaches for many years before entering Tome’s service. Perhaps he should consider the same? The pressure in his head only increased as he considered her words, but he found himself preoccupied with books. What books? The books stolen from Tome. But all he could think of was the stock of the library, he couldn’t even call to mind what Tome had reported stolen. He felt disgust at his foggy brain, and blamed the strange feelings on his headache.
When the guard emerged from the offices and reported nothing being found, Decontextualized rose and, without farewell, led the squad out of Dragon Tales. Quill felt relief, although his headache persisted.
When the next patron came over to him asking about Incarnism, he snapped that Wholism would be sufficient for their spiritual needs and that he would not waste his time and annoy the pig by answering their questions. He regretted his words, when the headache began to clear, but it was far too late to do anything about it but to put more positive energy into the rest of his day. That would be no problem with Noue, but first he would talk to Leather and ask what had changed in her circumstances to make her a more reliable volunteer. The story, as it turned out, involved her children. With Libra, they were once again safely in school before she had to arrive. He hadn’t known she was married, but then he’d not taken much of a vested interest in a volunteer he’d perceived as uninvested. Inwardly, he admonished himself for the snap judgment, and to Leather he expressed his regrets for any harshness he might have expressed. He came away from the discussion with only a slight lingering headache, and a much more positive attitude.
Noue was waiting outside the library, almost on the precipice, when he bade good night to Chapter and locked up shop. She, Noue, not Chapter, explained that she had intended to meet him at his apartment but didn’t know where it was. She flushed as she said this, and he immediately voiced a lack of concern or humor at her expense over such an oversight. He quite enjoyed the feeling of her hand in the crook of his arm, and led her through the snowy streets towards his apartment.
Inside, Noue concentrated intently upon something other than her surroundings, which he would have figured would have been of preeminent interest, and then turned to Quill and asked him if he would please take them to the most private room of his apartment. Something in her tone made it clear she had no untoward intentions. Puzzled, his mind roiling and yet blank, he led her to a closet that shared two walls with other apartments and had no windows. He apologized, as it was cramped, but was informed it would suit well.
Noue turned to Quill and said, “Could you please visualize your glyph?” The words rang in Quill’s mind, and a complex sigil appeared in his mind. Unlike many of his distant, foggy thoughts, it was easily held, and he rotated it in his thoughts until it settled. In an instant, the fog was banished. A rush of fear ran over him at the number of close encounters he’d had with agents of Zrit’isar, who affected the Loon name Tome. He realized he rather urgently needed to discuss with Noue the books she had stolen from Tome, as he had signaled to his extracellular contact Spine that the handoff would be at a prearranged drop site the next day. He asked Noue if she’d read anything of the books she had stolen for the Historians. She shook her head. “I wasn’t sure whether the knowledge would carry a signal for their psychic servants, and then after Glue… eugh. After they worked on my mind, I couldn’t even coherently consider them. They’re hidden, and I think I can find them without unlocking my glyph, but I need to know where to leave them. I’m assuming you’re using a drop site, given the scrutiny book stores are under right now?” Quill nodded, as ever pleased by her mental acuity. He directed her to the drop site, recognizing the expression of nonremembrance Glue’s air sorcery enabled, and suggested they have lunch with Glue Wednesday, after the handoff. “You don’t want to meet me alone?” she teased. “After all, our business will be concluded.”
Rather than a sense of forbiddance, Quill knew exactly why business came before romantic interest. He was a romantic, and he could not afford to compromise himself or his cell over emotional attachment. He would meet with Glue the following evening, and arrange lunch to go over their mental defenses. He knew now was a very dangerous time for all of them. He bent to brush a single kiss over Noue’s lips, once again rotated the complex sigil in his mind, and bade her good night. Despite the fig leaf of air sorcery, the peace to meditate nor sleep came easily to him that night.
