Evastany

28 IV-1

28 IV

And away we went to Estinor. Supposedly.

The problem here is as follows.

Estinor is (apparently) the older of the two Libraries, and Sulayn Phay (Krays’s Library) was built afterwards. Krays appears to thrive upon success-by-emulation, so he promoted the functionality, practicality and general excellences of his rival Library by modelling it closely upon Limbane’s.

The result is, the two Libraries are eerily similar. I know this because this is not the first time I have been out in these places; because I have heard it mentioned, amid much grouching, by Limbane before; and because of Llandry’s account, in which she describes being taken to “Estinor” by Gio, and only later discovering that she had actually been exploring Sulayn Phay.

So, to Estinor we went… or was it? I am certain that this Limbane is not the real Limbane, and that his part is most likely being played by a librarian of Sulayn Phay. But that’s a guess. A sound one, I would like to think, with much to back it up, but a guess nonetheless. Our mystery Limbane could be one of Limbane’s own people, and we might be in Estinor after all.

The only thing I can be certain of is that it’s not Limbane. This person does not seem to be aware that Limbane and I have spoken recently, and besides, the man claimed ancestry over a fictional character.

So, “Limbane” took us to a Library which looked exactly like the Library I remember from my sojourn in Estinor before. He took us via translocation, of course. If you’ve never seen or heard of that, it consists of near-instantaneous travel by means of willing oneself out of one location and into another. It’s not as magical as it sounds. In order to do it, one must have a set destination fixed upon what they call the PsiMap (a sort of shared mental vision of the world, or worlds, by which means one may sense those transloc-points that others have set down and put them to use). When it comes to the Libraries, it’s also necessary to have official permission to travel into them. I gather they can do this by bloodlines, but if you aren’t a blooded relative of any of a given Library’s tribes (or even if you are), you’re given access by way of an implant.

Yes, it’s literally implanted into your flesh. It contains whatever access codes they’re using at the moment, and it has to be updated from time to time to keep pace with the Library’s changes. I used to have one, which granted me unlimited access to Limbane’s Library for a time (you may be very sure that I milked it for every possible advantage). Limbane himself taught me how to translocate. I relinquished the implant in the end, wearied to death as I was with the whole sorry lot of them, and not expecting ever to need to come back to these cursed places.

I’ve had occasion to regret that decision, here and there. I certainly do right now, for I have no way to tell which Library we’re in. I think it would be far too audacious (and risky) for anybody to pose as Limbane in his own Library, however, and I cannot see what would be the point, so for now I am going to assume that we are in Sulayn Phay.

What we are doing here remains in question. It is necessary to assume that everything that has thus far been said is a lie. Sooner or later, someone will reveal to us what’s really going on.

In the meantime, Tren and I have a pact to snoop as much as possible.

Limbane showed us to rather handsome adjoining suites, in a part of the Library I have never been to before. They have those wonderful and alarming locks which operate by touch alone (we tested later. Tren cannot open mine and I cannot open his, so obviously they work. Somehow). There he left us, with instructions to rest (why? We haven’t done anything). He would return for us as soon as he could, he assured us, and then all the wonderful things would begin.

He withdrew, leaving Tren and I to discover with pleasing inevitability that our locks only respond to our touch from the outside, and therefore that, once inside our suites with the doors closed, we are unable to leave again. There aren’t even handles on the doors.

It was a neat, efficient abduction, in which the willing victims were removed with the minimum of fuss, ushered into our prisons with a polite bow, and left to enjoy all the comforts of luxurious incarceration until needed.

We were able to communicate, for there is an adjoining door in between our suites (locked of course) through which we could just about make ourselves heard. And so, we spoke.

Tren: Love. While we have successfully carried our point, I cannot help feeling that we have not come out altogether ahead of our adversaries.

Me: Much as I hate to admit it, you are perfectly right. Boxed and gift-wrapped! How lamentable!

Tren: Embarrassing.

Me: No! For we are where we need to be, even if our explorations are somewhat curtailed.

Tren: Options eliminated, possibilities deleted —

Me: Darling, I fear you have forgotten your role in this relationship. It is for me to be cynical, pessimistic and bleak. Your job is to be upbeat and hopeful.

Tren: You were not being despairing enough. I had to do something.

As amusing as this conversation was, it was largely nonsense. One does not expect to be kidnapped and then left to wander one’s prison at will, of course. The purpose of being abducted was to ensure our passage into the very heart of our enemy’s lair; that goal is accomplished! Huzzah!

From here, it is our duty to play along for a while, until we learn enough to act. One does that by being biddable prisoners, not too troublesome and not too bright.

But not too obedient. We have a plan, I am happy to inform you, and I expect said plan to come into effect very soon.

I won’t say what it is right away, in case it should all go horribly wrong and end in dramatic failure. I would be far too embarrassed to write of it afterwards, for have I not admitted to more than enough mistakes already?

Instead of laying out my optimistic (hah) expectations in this journal, I took a few moments to explore my suite. It consisted of a flatteringly large bedroom with a very good bathroom attached — a very good bathroom indeed. They do know how to do plumbing out here! I’ll say that for Lokants! I spent a little time searching, perhaps a trifle half-heartedly, for a means of escape. I didn’t expect to find one. My little apartment had two doors: the outer door and the one into Tren’s suite. Both were locked, neither responded to my touch, and neither had handles or even visible keyholes. There were no windows.

That settled, I availed myself at once of the large bath tub, with its amply flowing hot water and delicious bubbly goodness. After that I went to bed, because why not? I had nothing else to do.

I was woken some time later by the sound of the door opening. I sat up at once, heart pounding, unsure who to expect. Would it be my jailer or my rescuer?

I beheld: the latter!

‘Gio!’ cried I. ‘My dear boy, I have never been more tempted to kiss you.’ In my defence, his presence there demonstrated the excellence of my secret plan (hah!), and he represented all the potential-for-investigation-and-future-escape that I could wish for. His arrival also confirmed which Library we were in, which was nice to know.

His eyelids flickered. Two or three seconds of dead silence elapsed, during which I was free to imagine just how distasteful the prospect of my kisses might be to Gio (considerably, I have to conclude, given that he vastly prefers a sweet boy like Ori). ‘Hello,’ he said, when he recovered his power of speech.

I got out of bed. Whoever had prepared my prison had thoughtfully laid out a selection of spare blankets and pillows for me, in case of need. I had brought a portmanteau along, containing my own clothes, and so I was attired in my own nightgown, buried under six or seven layers of warm things and propped upon several gorgeously squishy pillows. I did not especially like having to get out of bed under these circumstances, but the matter of escape was undeniably important.

I also adjusted the lights. I am a Darklander, which means I am unused to bright lights under any circumstances. Tren and I had made sure to carry the necessary equipment with us, when we travelled out here: namely sets of dark glasses, adept at filtering out as much light as possible. When alone, though, it is still much more comfortable to leave them off, and keep the lights off too. I am used to seeing my way in darkness, I do not need chamber lights. But Gio does, so I donned my glasses once again.

Gio shut the door behind himself. I don’t know how he got in, for there is no likelihood that he is supposed to have access to these rooms. But he’s a full Lokant, spawn of such devious and ruthless minds as Dwinal and Krays, and he used to live in this Library. None of us doubted that he could get into wherever we ended up, and our faith in him has been fully rewarded.

He held out an unpromising-looking metallic thing. Inelegant language I know, but I have no idea what to call it and the word “thing” was coined for precisely this purpose. The thing was tiny, perhaps half an inch across, and… I do not even know how to describe it otherwise.

‘What is that?’ said I, my tone ripe with suspicion.

‘Your new implant,’ replied Gio.

I shuddered. See, I was not especially aware of the process by which I was given an implant before, or the later procedure which removed it. I didn’t really want to know the details. I didn’t want to know what it looked like, how it worked, or where in me it went. The whole idea makes me feel rather sick, I don’t mind admitting, and I felt a wave of nausea upon beholding the implant in Gio’s hands.

Wonderful,’ I said weakly.

Gio smiled. It was a sweet smile, rather gentle, the kind that said he knew exactly how I felt and deeply sympathised with my distress. I revised my opinion of him a fraction.

‘Grit your teeth,’ said he.

‘What?’

Gio grabbed my arm. I felt a jab of something sharp piercing my flesh, after which my whole arm went numb. When I saw the flash of a blade in Gio’s hand — the really horribly sharp scalpel type of blade — I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, gritted my teeth very hard indeed, and tried to sing happy songs in my head until he was finished.

Sweet Gio, adoring of and adored by lovely Ori, friend of Llandry’s and of mine, whose heart could often surprise me with its depths of love. That Gio coldly carved a hole in my arm, stuffed the implant into it and sealed me back up again. Happily for me, swift and efficient healing is a Lokant art. They do not so much patch the body up again as persuade the body to patch itself up; it’s an ability related to general domination over the will of others. To my regret, it is something I have never managed to master, but Gio was excellent at it.

‘You can open your eyes,’ he said after a while, and though it may have felt like a century or two I am fairly sure it was only about twenty minutes later.

I cracked one eye open, expecting to see a ruined arm with a horrific scar and pints of blood everywhere.

I saw… my arm. The sleeve of my white nightgown was pushed up to my shoulder, and everything below it was as it should be. Pale, smooth skin, no marks, no scars, no blood.

‘How did you do that?!’ said I. And how can you?

Gio gave me that crooked smile. I thought he looked grim, perhaps sad, but any fleeting glimpses of emotion soon vanished behind his usual composure. ‘I do what needs to be done,’ he said, which didn’t quite address the question I had asked, but did answer the question I’d wanted to ask. ‘Why don’t you test it? I should not linger.’