“Well, he does seem a verycleanbird,” he said. “And very attached to you, clearly. I suppose he can stay.”
He tapped Baldbeak’s imposing beak with one finger. “Excellent. Excellent. Well, let me show you the stove and bathroom, and you can boil water for your bath.”
The way he kept emphasizing the bath made me realize that I was very grubby, and probably not smelling all that sweet, so I followed him obediently down a narrow staircase and through the rows of shelves and precarious stacks on the lower level. In the close, crowded air of the bookstore, the volumes almost seemed to rustle on their perches, like a flock of watchful birds. Was it my imagination, or did some of them quiver as I passed by?
The sound of a little bell jingled in the dusty air. To my surprise, the Book Man spun around sharply. “Get behind the stacks,” he said.
“But I …”
“Quickly, now.”
I slipped into a hiding place behind one of the tall shelves, but couldn’t resist pushing two of the books slightly apart so I could see between them. The Book Man opened one of the doors against the wall, revealing a glim-lit tunnel behind it and what I assumed was a customer—a woman.
She stood as tall as many men and wore a velvet dress of silvery blue that caught what little light there was in the dim shop. As she moved, the full skirt rippled about her legs like fine muscles under the skin of some sleek winter animal, likea marten or fox, and the hem lifted just a little to show silver slippers beneath. A silver girdle encircled her slim waist, a belled reticule dangling from it, its tinkling setting the stale air of the shop astir. And her face! Painfully pretty, with long-lashed blue eyes and a mouth shaped in a perfect bow, framed by yellow curls that showed a hint of copper. Altogether, the lady reminded me of one of the porcelain dolls I had seen in Quell’s shop windows, and I felt the same childish urge to clasp her in my arms.
“Book Man,” she said in a sweet, low-pitched voice, a thread of condescension running through it.
“Milady,” he said, bowing low. “Please, come in. I trust you didn’t run into any difficulties outside?”
She waved a hand. “The Temple guards have already dispelled the rabble.”
The Book Man fussed about this visitor, leading her deeper into the shop, sweeping the dust from a wooden stool with his handkerchief, and making a show of offering her wine from a covered pitcher. I watched as she accepted the cup he handed her and raised her thin, stenciled brows at it while his back was turned.
As quietly as I could, I shuffled forward on my hands and knees, making sure to stay hidden behind the stacks. I knew the front of my dress would get even filthier, but I didn’t care; I just wanted to get a closer look at the beautiful lady, in the same way you crawl closer to a fire in the hearth. I managed to get about ten feet from where she sat, while remaining concealed behind the bookshelf.
Milady swirled the wine in her cup, making a face at the film on its surface, and then put it down without taking a sip.
“Well?” she asked. “What progress on my little project?”
The Book Man fussed with his spectacles, attempting to polish them with the same handkerchief he had used to dust the stool, but only succeeding in smearing yet more grime on them.
“I have a possible lead,” he said at last, giving up and balancing the smudged spectacles on his nose. “There is a Temple, near the border …”
“Another Temple.” She sighed. “What is this, the third? The fourth?”
“Well, we always knew that it was likely to be held in one. Where better to hide it? The Priests wouldn’t want it to see the light of day, but they wouldn’t dare destroy it.”
Milady made a face of distaste. “Priests,” she said, and there was more contempt crammed into that one word than I had ever heard before. “When will you know for certain?”
“I have someone there now,” said the Book Man. “I haven’t heard anything from him yet, but I remain hopeful.”
Milady tapped her nails against her cup. “Hopeful.”
“Very hopeful,” amended the Book Man. He was still standing, his hands clasped in front of him, like a child who waits for punishment but hopes that he may yet be pardoned.
“As we were hopeful last time, and the time before that.”
“My information comes from a very trustworthy source.”
She sighed. “I suppose I can wait a few days more.” She put down her cup abruptly. “And my sister?”
The Book Man shook his head. “No word, I’m afraid.”
The woman stood, her skirts setting the dust to swirling again. The Book Man took a step back. “I thought you were the best,” she said.
“I am. I mean …”
“This has already taken far too long.”
