The Keep

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 34Esyal had gone straight from breakfast to the Archive. For the moment she did not want to think about the dream she had had. It had been extraordinarily vivid...

And it had obviously been brought about by her study of the scrolls...

Later, later...

She looked around at the dusty disorder of the Archive and dismay set in.

She thought of Qualto’s meticulous, well-ordered kitchen. How could someone like that let this place get into such a state? She ran a distasteful finger over one of the volumes then silently cursed her enthusiasm in volunteering for this job. Qualto’s own enthusiasm for her to do it might have proved a warning of what she was letting herself in for. Then again, she doubted Qualto was much of a conspirator. He was far too open and straightforward — as far as she could see.

She, on the other hand...

However long she had to stay here, it would end eventually and she still had work to do. The Rhanen might be in outright retreat at the moment but some destiny had rescued her and brought her to safety when she had seen only death ahead. Whether it had been chance or some other power she did not care, nor, for that matter, even considered. A new resolve had slowly grown in her — or, more correctly, an old resolve had been re-awakened. The New Order was unequivocally an evil thing; its watching eyes, and dead, controlling hands stifled all they touched, forcing people and events into an expression of their will. While mouthing the words of freedom, it was the antithesis of it. In time, of course, it would wither and die, like any rigid, inflexible thing. But how long would that take? How much hurt would be done while she waited? And how much longer would it take for the people to recover from the New Order’s corrosive overlordship? Might there not come in its wake merely a different tyranny?

No — she could not do nothing — she must renew her fight.

And here was opportunity. The same events that had preserved her had brought her into the presence of someone near the very heart of the New Order — perhaps even one of the Ordrans. The very least she would gain from Adroyan was knowledge — about him, and maybe the inner circles of the New Order...

The prospect warmed her. As did her offer to help Qualto. Her sense of natural fairness and her low cunning had both told her it was unfair and unwise for her to sit around, being fed and housed while others were working — particularly as it seemed that Adroyan had no such qualms. He was already showing the signs of someone who was not part of the group. If she too had opted to do nothing then she would be outside the group also — and inevitably be perceived as his ally, whatever that might come to mean. Now, she could be part of the group and also a friendly face for Adroyan — a peace maker — a builder of bridges. She would make herself quietly useful to him as the subtle effects of his self-imposed isolation made themselves felt — and they would. She smiled at the thought.

“You might be New Order, but somewhere you’re human like the rest of us, you bastard,” she muttered very softly, as though she did not want even the dusty documents around her to hear.

For now though, she must get on with her immediate work. She must draw the others about her. And quickly, she decided sharply. Apart from any long-term plans she might have, there was still the matter of the men who had attacked and routed her party. That had only been a few days ago and presumably they were still out there, unless the intensity of the snowfall had sent them scurrying. Maybe having the drawbridge jammed shut was not such a bad thing after all, she reflected, with some irony. Then again, if a troop of New Order soldiers arrived to find one of their leaders trapped inside — and Adroyan would identify himself to them, undoubtedly — who could say what resources they might bring to bear to rescue him — and her!

Her mind made up, she turned to the task in hand.

Where, in the name of pity, was she to start?

She stopped herself on the verge of a sigh and her eyes narrowed determinedly.

When you don’t know where to start — start.

Probably backwards from these, she thought, looking at the ordered volumes on the shelves by the door. But first she needed space.

Some time later, it was beginning to emerge. The door to the Archive was held open by two boxes and the general clutter from the Archive floor had been carried into the book room where it lay in rows with the disconsolate air of conscripted soldiers on first parade. Esyal looked round at the Archive. The carpet was now strangely patterned, with oases of ancient cleanliness between marginally younger paths of grime and dust.

Not bad, she decided, although a glance down at herself told her that she must look in the store room to see if there were any clothes more appropriate for this kind of work.

After another flurry of activity, the contents of the desk had advanced into the book room to form a flank guard to the conscripts.

A chair had emerged during the clearing of the floor. Esyal pulled it up to the desk and sat down with a proprietorial air.

Henk appeared in the doorway.

“I thought you were helping Nyk,” she said.

“I was — I am — I was just passing — going to pick up something.”

Esyal smiled and extended an arm to indicate her achievement — and to invite praise. The invitation was unsuccessful but his eyes took in the room and she thought she detected a faint hint of approval. She opted for a little less subtlety.

“Looking better already, isn’t it?” she insisted.

Henk’s gaze drifted to the exiled documents now lingering in the book room.

“Looking different,” he said.

Esyal was about to engage in some banter but when she spoke she heard herself asking, “Why do you want to leave, Henk?”

The question surprised her almost as much as it did Henk, who looked for an instant as though he was going to run away. Instead, he looked at her intently.

Esyal pressed on, then retreated a little. “You’ve been here a long time, haven’t you? Nyk and Qualto are your friends. I’m sorry, it’s none of my business, is it? But...”

She left the sentence unfinished, terminating it with a hasty, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Henk, however, seemed unconcerned. He ignored the apology and simply answered the questions. “Yes, I have, and yes, they are,” he said. “I don’t want to leave — it’s a good job, and it suits me — I just have to. We should all leave.”

“In this weather?” Esyal’s incredulity at the sincerity — the fear? — in his voice was genuine.

Henk’s head drooped forward even more than normal and his cheeks puffed out as though he were wrestling with some great problem.

“I don’t know. It’d be dangerous, I suppose, but...”

“It’d be more dangerous to stay?”

Henk ignored the words she put into his mouth. “Did you find any more scrolls like the other one?” he asked.

“No... no...” Esyal stammered, taken unawares by this sudden change of subject. “I haven’t looked yet. I’ve just been making some space to work in.”

“Remembered who you are, yet?” This second question, as unexpected as the first, was delivered like a fast and subtle sword thrust, and was accompanied by a shrewd, piercing gaze. Esyal could not meet it. She pushed her chair back and stood up slowly so that she could disguise her avoidance.

“I know who I am,” she corrected. “Well, my name, anyway. I just don’t know why I’m out here, or where I come from. Maybe later it’ll bother me, but right now I’m just glad to be alive — very glad.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t even matter that we’re all trapped here. Still, thanks for asking, but nothing’s come back at all. Perhaps if I keep myself occupied, it’ll sneak up on me.”

“Hmm.”

Esyal levered the questioning back to her own advantage. “You still haven’t told me why you want to leave — why you want all of us to leave. I know some... odd... things have happened these past few days, but Badr said it was probably an earthquake — or something. And nothing dangerous has happened, has it?”

Henk’s lip curled.

“It’s no earthquake,” he said, almost sneering. “You don’t get earthquakes in this country. Everyone knows that. Did you feel the ground shaking?”

“No, but Nyk and...”

Henk answered his own question. “No. Of course you didn’t. And Nyk’s not going to argue with the surveyors — but he’ll tell you — there was no sign of damage to the drawbridge — not anywhere. Nothing had moved. It wasn’t jammed, it was held tight shut just as though something was holding it. And you didn’t hear those voices in the Great Hall — or see Adroyan listening to them.”

Esyal made a vague gesture of admission. “I don’t know what to make of any of it, Henk — drawbridges, voices. I just can’t see that anything bad enough has happened to make you want to leave so urgently — still less the rest of us — and in this weather! Maybe it’s just all the upheaval. I suppose we’re an awkward bunch to be suddenly dropped into your daily routine.” She lowered her voice. “And if Adroyan’s close to the Ordrans — or maybe even one of them — he’ll be particularly... unusual.”

“Oh, he’s unusual, all right,” came the immediate response. “He’s near the heart of what’s going on. The surveyor’s arrival seemed to unsettle things, but since he arrived...” Henk’s lip curled.

Part of Esyal wanted to get on with her work and was inclined to shut him off with as polite a “did you want something, I’m busy,” intrusion as she could manage, but there was a momentum to their discussion that would not allow it voice.

“You still haven’t said why you want to leave so urgently,” she said, inwardly reproaching herself for allowing this to continue.

Henk stared at her. “No, I haven’t, have I?” He paused. “Then, I don’t think I’ve got words for it. Hairs on the neck go up...” He rubbed his hands together nervously. “Your insides go heavy and tight. I feel like a rabbit that’s just seen a fox heading towards it. Doesn’t know what’s going to happen — just that it’ll be bad.”

Esyal had lived too long on her wits to hold the analogy to scorn. Indeed, what Henk described, she was herself experiencing as she listened to him. Naturally taciturn and self-sufficient, it had cost him a price of some kind to speak like that to someone who was really a complete stranger — a brief interruption to his long service to the Keep. Much as she would have preferred to, she could not idly ignore either Henk’s admission, or her response to it.

She was silent for some time, uncertain what to say.

Henk spared her. “You think I’m cracked, don’t you?”

The incongruity of the plea snapped the unease between them and brought a smile to Esyal’s face.

“No, I don’t,” she replied without hesitation and looking at him squarely. “I think maybe you’re worrying about nothing — but then I could be wrong — you live here. Either way, if we don’t know what we’re looking for, we’re going to have to wait and see what happens.”

Henk pondered the logic of this. “And if it’s a fox? Something bad?”

Esyal shrugged. “Well, I can’t imagine what it might be, but we still have to wait — see what it is. Running’s like whimpering — it attracts predators. Maybe we’d be better standing our ground.” Then, retreating discreetly from this heroic posture: “Anyway, don’t forget, Nyk’s wedged the drawbridge open. At least we can’t be trapped here now.” She leaned forward earnestly, speaking as the thoughts came to her. “Perhaps you could get some things ready for a hasty exit — food, clothes, travelling equipment. Stack it all near the door — then if the... fox... arrives and we do have to run for it, we’ll be ready.”

The simple practicality of the idea obviously appealed to Henk. His dour face brightened and he even drew himself up a little taller.

“Yes,” he muttered softly to himself. Then with a brusque, “I’d better get back to Nyk,” he was gone, leaving Esyal at the beginning of a sentence and off-balance — mouth gaping. She shook her head as if the brief exchange might have been a daydream. Then Henk’s initial question returned to her. “Did you find any more scrolls?”

She glanced back at the waiting shelves. She’d done the hard part — she’d started. The scrolls would be as good a place to continue as any, she decided.

Some little while later, and more than a little dust-smeared, she had located three scrolls which appeared to be of the same type as the one she had first found. After a brief and irritating attempt to examine them on the desk, she took them into the book room and laid them out side by side on the floor, using heavy books to pin down their curling corners. Numbers at the head of each, carefully drawn, but in a different hand to the rest of the writing, enabled her to put them in the correct sequence.

As she had laid them out it had been her intention to study them, but as she looked again at the drawings on the first one, the memory of her dream of the previous night, held at bay so far, rushed in upon her.