Vellum and Green Vitriol
Copyright © 2007, S. Y. Affolee
The Third Conjuration
Seal XXXVII
The clerk at Juniper's had boxed our costume purchases--along with some matching masks--into cardboard boxes bearing the store logo. A bit of twine wrapped around the box as if it were a present provided a handle to carry the boxes back to the hotel.
By the time we had the costumes put away, it was noon. The front desk clerk suggested a small restaurant on a boulevard just past the city library. At the restaurant, we had taken a table at the window. The library was a square structure across the way, most of its façade blocked by nearby shops.
As we had lunch, I watched both tourists and the city inhabitants rustle about like busy ants--going in and out of shops, carrying packages to and fro. Some workers were slowly making their way down the street, stringing last minute electrical lights on the iron lampposts.
"I've never seen so many people make a fuss about All Hallow's Eve," I remarked. "I know it was originally a pagan festival and that it used to have some religious significance. It's also an ideal time for magic workers to weave their spells--but they've all been so secret about it."
"People like to celebrate holidays," Rhys replied. "The way I look at it, it's a bit of desperation. It's the last time people will have any opportunity to celebrate before the harsh reality of winter sets in. It's a bit of a reaffirmation of life. It might seem completely frivolous to you, but I think there's really something else behind it."
"You really do know people, don't you?" I said. "You sympathize with them. You feel like them."
"Don't you?"
It was on the tip of my tongue to deny it, but I caught myself and really tried to think about it. Rhys regarded me over his half eaten lunch with a colorless gaze that made my pulse skitter. It was a melancholy gaze, threatening to draw me into whatever emotional complication he offered--a complication that I was afraid of even looking at let alone taking.
But wasn't this fear something human itself? A book that has never known the existence of flesh and blood would know nothing of fear.
"Ana?"
I concentrated on my food. "I would by lying if I said I felt nothing."
"I didn't mean that you don't feel anything. You're just afraid to admit it." He said this kindly, without any smugness which made me feel worse for my willful cluelessness.
The walk to the library was brisk. A flight of wide stone stairs led up to a long portico framed with thick columns. The top of those columns were decorated by fat, grotesque figures, but from my distant vantage point, I could not tell if they were cherubs or demons.
A series of doors fronted the library--tall narrow doors gilded with carvings of vines and mythical creatures. Ahead of me, Rhys pushed one of the doors open and I walked into a marble glazed rotunda--the ceiling painted with a false skylight. Archways led in all directions to the archives.
A thin man sat at the front desk, dark hair combed meticulously back, thin-nosed, bespectacled. He peered at us over his glasses and spotting Rhys, frowned.
"Mr. Lattimore. What a surprise to see you again." The librarian's tone was nasal and slight disapproving. "Still doing research?"
"Good afternoon, Mr. Penddington. Yes indeed, I'm doing more research." Rhys had pasted on a smile that did not reach his eyes. "We will be examining some of the older texts."
At the word "we", the librarian raised an eyebrow and then glanced at me. After a moment, his gaze dismissed me. I found myself smiling. Apparently Mr. Penddington was the type of man who thought females and books couldn't possibly mix.
"Good luck with that," Penddington finally said.
As Rhys pulled me across the foyer to one of the archways, I whispered, "What's wrong with him? Did you do something the last time you were here to annoy him?"
"He's just a dour sort of fellow," he replied. As we walked past the archway, I noticed that the bricks were painted with some sort of varnish which made them look like majolica tiles. "The only interaction I had with him yesterday was when I asked him where the grimoires and the older texts were kept. Every so often, he would come by to check up on what I was doing. He was probably afraid that I was going to deface his precious books."
"Perhaps that has happened to him before."
"Maybe. But to be honest, he looked suspicious even before he opened his mouth. I don't think he likes anyone tramping through his library."
I glanced around and saw no other library patrons in the vicinity. Nonetheless, I lowered my voice further. "Wouldn't that make things difficult? He might be taking precautions to ward the place from anyone crazy enough to break in here."
"I've thought of that. But we're not ordinary crazy people." He grinned. "We're grimoires and there will be two of us. I'm sure we can handle any security measures that prune-faced book guardian will cook up."
"You make us sound like supermen." I glanced at the many shelves before us. Labels were mounted to the end of each shelf--a hint to the collection's cataloguing system. "I'm a book of protection. I don't know anything about mechanical locks."
"Don't worry, darling. I do." He gestured to the far end of this particular room. I followed him, our heels clicking on the stone floor. "I used to work for some questionable characters when I was younger. And I learned quite a few practical skills."
"You were employed by thieves."
"Not exactly, but I suppose you could call them that."
The last shelf had a noticeably dusty air. It faced a stone wall--polished and blank.
"Ah ha! Here it is." Rhys pulled out one of the tomes. "One of John Dee's more philosophical works. Disguised as an alchemical text."
As he started leafing through it, I said, "What does that have anything to do with your search for Blackthorne? If I didn't know any better, I would think that you were indulging in an outlet for your own latent bibliophilia."
He glanced up from his search to give me a hot look. "Who said my bibliophila was ever latent?"
"You know, your attempts to shock me are not working."
"I'm just trying to wear you down, darling." He stopped at a page. "Take a look at this."
I stood beside him and read the inked text. "It's just some ravings of a fool who thinks that he can turn lead into gold."
"Don't you feel anything?"
"Feel what?"
"Put your hand on the page."
I made my disbelief clear on my face, but I put a finger onto the volume. The words began to run on the page and a surge of bright energy connected to my finger.
"Ouch!"
"How is your research going, madam?" Penddington had rounded the corner and was approaching us.
I wiggled my finger to check if it was still working. The words had gone back to their placid positions on the page.
"Everything is going quite well," Rhys told the librarian.
Penddington halted, looking skeptical. "I thought I heard someone scream."
"Don't worry," I said quickly. "I just got a paper cut."
The librarian's eyebrows raised up towards his hairline. Apparently, he didn't believe me. Finally, he said, "The library is not a place for trysts. If anything of that nature is occurring under this roof, I will call the police."
When he walked away, Rhys made a face. "Overbearing prude. Just watch, in ten minutes he will be back inquiring about our progress."
"Well, I suppose that is annoying." I glanced back at the book in his hands. "What was that anyway?"
"Residue," he replied. "And I can recognize the signature anywhere. Blackthorne had used this volume for something. That was what I was looking for when I came here to the library."
"So something made you suspect that the sorcerer used these books. But it doesn't tell us anything else."
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. But I don't blame you since you have not been tracking down sorcerers for the better part of your existence. The residue that you sensed can tell us several things. The strength of its pull tells us that Blackthorne handled this volume recently."
"And if it's recent," I said slowly, "that may mean he is still close by."
"That is one possibility. Where the residue was found also tells us what Blackthorne might be looking for."
"A way to turn lead into gold?" I said skeptically. "There are far more subtle ways to get more money. Like manipulating the stock market. If you suddenly had a pile of gold appear out of nowhere, wouldn't people become suspicious?"
"That is assuming that mad sorcerers still have any reasoning at all," he replied. "But no, I don't think that is what he is looking for. Look again at the exact place that you've touched."
The top of the page had indeed been discussing the methods used for attempting to turn base metals into gold, but I had touched the bottom of the page where a new section had begun.
Summoning.
Carefully, I turned the page by flipping the edge with a fingernail. There was a description of a potion using a variety of chemical ingredients that were to be mixed in a crucible that would aid in calling out and enslaving certain spirits to the summoner's will.
"There are these lists of spirits," I said. "Is he going to call all of them or just some of them?"
"I have no idea." He inclined his head toward the bookshelf. "But I am hoping that one of these other texts will describe exactly what these spirits are so we will have a better idea of what Blackthorne may be attempting to do."
"We're going to search through all these books?" I shook my head. "This is going to take a while." I grabbed a tome off the shelf. I stepped back to lean against the wall for support as Rhys replaced the John Dee tract to take up another book.
Something stung against my shoulder blades. "What the...?" I turned around. The wall didn't look any different.
"Did you find something already?" Rhys asked.
"No." I reached out to touch the wall. Something faint, almost indiscernible shifted, as if the grains of the stone had moved like ripples on the surface of a pond. "Did you see that?"
Rhys looked over, his eyes narrowed. "I've never touched the wall before. I never thought to. Do it again."
I pressed a finger against the stone. Again, the grains subtly moved. There seemed to be a pattern in it, but my mind could not yet grasp it. "I'm not sure what it is."
"I'm not sure either, but it is just one more reason to come back here."
I opened my mouth to say something, but a noise at the far end of the room caught my attention. "Well, you were right. That librarian is indeed coming back over here again to bother us. I suppose we should look like we're busy with scholarly matters."
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