Finally, Roy thought. Finally, they might actually get something done. And it echoed how this had all started for him in the first place: looking for the Old Ones obliquely, coming at it from different points of view and academies of thought. Roy had been studying other invasions, and the Old Ones had reared their black visages in those indirect texts when days of just searching straight on had yielded nothing. In just a half hour, they had already accomplished more by approaching the topic sideways.
And all Roy had to do now was stop his breath from catching and his heart from thrashing whenever Percival did something as simple and mundane as walk into a room.
Maybe then Northgard might survive the war.
Percival looked around the Observatory. “I do think the Basilica will test our patience, though, especially since what we’re looking for would ultimately lead to the library’s own demise. We might be old crones before we get through half of these books. It’s a shame the Droves lost their minds before they could thoroughly search this place. It would’ve been courteous of them to clear the mess.”
Roy knew Percival was jesting, although it made him contemplate what he had not long ago believed strange: the affliction that the Governor had described, which had come over both the Droves and the Matron. He had pushed the thought into the dark waters underneath his mind, primarily out of disbelief in, and perhaps an aversion to, superstition. But now, with the shadow of so many other inexplicable occurrences suspended over his head, was it truly that far-fetched to believe thatsomething—some force beyond his reckoning yet undoubtedly sharing the same space as him—had made the Matron uneasy, had made several Droves kill themselves? He didn’t think so.
But who might have been responsible for this affliction, Roy couldn’t be certain. The phantom that had accosted him? The library itself? Some other sinister entity? Indeed, it might be possible, but despite the conclusion of his and Percival’s game, Roy couldn’t yet bring himself to confess what he’d seen. He was almost there, quite nearly, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how Percival had spoken about Razkamun and his apparent insanity.
“Sure,” Roy said to Percival, “it might have been helpful, but sitting here and complaining about it isn’t going to get us closer to the truth. Moreover, it won’t stop the madness out there.” He gestured to the snow-blasted world past the window. He felt a surge of frustration at Percival’s joke, because it felt like a delaying tactic—a defense against fully collaborating.Already,Roy thought angrily. “What’s done is done. What we do, we need todo,now.I don’t know about you, but I want todosomething. I want to—”
Percival smiled. “You want to be a hero.”
“Our heroes are dead, if they were ever heroes to begin with. No, I... I want to see my sister again.”
Percival’s eyes softened at that, and once again he nodded, a gesture Roy was starting to see was as powerful a confirmation as he was going to get.
Emboldened, Roy said, “Somebody is good at keeping secrets. Whether it’s the Governor, this library, or the Old Ones themselves—it doesn’t matter. You and I are here, and those secrets are ours to find. That’s all I know.” Roy jabbed a finger into the grant. “This report, andThe Lost Records, is a good start.”
“It is indeed. So let’s take a look at that artwork you mentioned, then,” Percival said. “If the scene it’s portraying and the event described in that grant are one and the same, then I’m suspecting it will give us at least a little more insight into these soldiers. From there, any details we pick up on, we’ll add them to our compiled notes.” He sounded determined, perhaps somewhat eager, too, but there was a kind of subdued reluctance on his face, like he was halfway to dropping some thought that had been lingering in his mind.
Before he could, Roy said, “What’s the matter?”
“It’s as I said earlier, darling: Don’t read too deeply into this,” Percival said. “I don’t want you to mistake my cooperation for kindness or an attempt at friendship, because my earlier point still stands. Wewillargue. Wewilldisagree. That’s inevitable. I’m giving you as much collaboration as I will allow, and I mean that solely in the professional sense.” He looked at Roy, and his expression turned a shade darker, like he was glaring, but it was weak, as though his last few scowls had lost their power. “There is a line between us, Roy, and crossing that line would not do well for either of us. I can’t let you get in my way.”
In your way?Roy thought.Or close enough to actually know you?
* * *
After Roy and Percival had reviewed their notes and assembled them into their notebooks, the two of them walked up to the seventh floor in a slightly uneasy silence.
Roy attempted to distract himself with thoughts of their theories and the grant, from which he’d gleaned no further information on Randyll’s prized possession, but nothing worked. Nothing chased away his conversation with Percival, nor the way he had spoken Roy’s name. It lingered, clinging to his mind like a nightmare upon awakening—frightening, yes, but enticing all the same.
I can’t let you get in my way.
He massaged his temples, but it gave him neither aid nor succor. Perhaps this entire time, Percival had beenwaitingfor Roy to openly ask him to finish their game, to rip off all the masks and do away with all the pretenses. And when Roy had unwittingly exposed his desire, Percival had lunged at the bait, eager toseeRoy, to make him feel what Percival felt.
The only problem was Percival’s interest in Roy seemed more personal than he’d first assumed. He didn’t want tohurtRoy; he wanted to strip him of his armor, lay his heart bare. Roy would have rather died, taken a knife to his heart and done the deed himself, than allow that to happen. He had thought of it, too. He’d considered it when he’d sat down at the piano. He could’ve run from those morbid compulsions, and from Percival, too, and saved himself the mortification of vulnerability.
But for some sadistic reason, Roy couldn’t resist the fight.
Once they reached the seventh floor, Roy tipped his head back, squinted, and inspected the painted bas-reliefs wrapped around the skylight. The scene closest to him and Percival, above the bookshelf they’d stopped alongside, was the burning ship sailing across a churning black sea. Therewasan inscription beneath the piece, as Roy had hoped, but from this vantage point he could not distinguish the words engraved in gilded lettering. He grunted, frustrated, and rose onto his toes, but it didn’t clarify the text by any measure.
“Of course,” Roy muttered. “Maybe I was a little too hopeful.”Or maybe, he thought,this damn library reallyisout to get me.
Percival looked at the skylight, his lips pursed. “No, darling, we can’t give up that easily. Some answers could berightthere, just within our reach.”
“Poor choice of words,” Roy remarked.
Percival rolled his eyes. “Wait here, would you? I’m going to go look around for something that could give us a closer view.”
Roy admired Percival’s perseverance, though he didn’t know where it came from, nor what had made him so confident in the Orphic Basilica’s resources. All of the seven floors, from what Roy had seen, contained bookshelves and reading rooms but not much else—
There was a rattling sound from behind Roy, becoming progressively louder. This was accompanied by the hollow whistling of a wind, akin to a deep note being played into a flute, but there was a calming quality to it, something friendlier and more companionable than the feeling of disorientation he’d gotten when the red-eyed ghost had accosted him. No, this, he realized, was the wind that had swirled around him when he had made the discovery of the black chest plate.
“Darling!” Percival shouted, his voice casting a resonant, unsettling echo throughout the seventh floor. “Darling, look out!”
