Chapter 8

Night had fallen. After a brief foray through a brothel accompanied with a humorous wink from a bucktoothed woman with a unique, long tongue, Borner continued to wend his way down a bewildering collection of covered and uncovered alleyways with a few other odd detours, entering the back doors of anonymous buildings. The last door was stout wood bound with straps of black iron. Two coded knocksleft him to face a short sword pointed at his belly.

Once a pat-down confirmed that he had no weapon, Borner followed his escort through a pigsty and across the courtyard to the back of a good-sized mansion. Looking up at the stone and brick construction by the light of burning torches on stakes, the L-shaped building loomed over a yard that appeared sinister with flickering shadows. The windows at ground level and the level above were dark except for one next to the kitchen door. The back wall blended into the darkness, leaving Borner with the sensation that there was nothing healthy about the space in which he was standing. Inside the back door of the kitchen, a servant scrubbed his boots with a brush and cloth. His escort waved him forward and they climbed the stairs to the second floor where Borner was passed off to two men dressed in workmen’s clothes, comfortably worn and common. He was not fooled by appearances.

A quiet knock at a door announced Borner’s arrival. Assassin One, as Borner named him, then opened the door and invited Borner to enter without saying a word. The library contained one wall of books, many of which were not in good shape or looked as if they had not been pulled in many a year. The tall windows had the drapes pulled tight but framed a large desk set by the windows to catch the daylight. Most of the room was taken by a seating area of a long couch, a short couch facing, and two large, ornate chairs clustered around a long, low table. A large rug with an intricate pattern contained the furniture. Two large oil lamps burned inside of polished domes, casting a yellow, warm glow.

A thin figure arose from behind the desk. “Greetings. May I get you something to drink?”

The voice was a smooth tenor, well controlled and pitched to deliver each word. Borner recognized the power of authority when he heard it, confirming for himself that he was standing before a man who wielded great power with an ease of experience.

“If the master of the house is drinking, then I will join in,” Borner said. “I do not know if the hour is late or early.”

“The hour is never late nor early,” the man replied.

“Unless it is the hour of need,” Borner said, straightening his back as he answered with the last line of the Guild code.

“You are member of the guild?” the man asked as he came around the desk and offered the seating area with a hand gesture.

“An honorary member from the eastern lands,” Borner said. “I was a priest.”

“Sojourner, then.”

Borner hesitated, having been unable to make up his mind most of the afternoon of how this point of the conversation would flow. He decided that the truth was easier when standing before the Master of Lies. “Arimas.”

“Interesting choice,” the master said as he slid into one of the stuffed chairs. “The Sojourner indicated that you are a paradox. Now I understand.”

Borner sat. “I have two points of business with the master of the house. The first I have already advised the Sojourner of, and the second is the private business of two merchants.”

“Then we shall be drinking tea,” the man said. “I am Timmaus, a Left Hand of the Guild.”

Borner was immediately impressed. To be a Hand in the Guild was to be a ranking member. He also understood from the ranking that the guildhall in Gemma must be significant to the network to have a Hand at the helm. From what he had learned on the road, Gemma was the middle of three kingdoms that were once one mighty kingdom, and each was economically tightly bound to one another. Trade moved from north to south and from south to north during all the seasons but winter. Any other conclusions would be only conjecture thus far.

“Borner, last master of Andamathea and her only survivor.”

Timmaus stood up and walked over to the wall of books. Several boxes were stacked one on top of the other on a shelf just above the man’s head. He grasped the stack and brought them down to his chest. Turning carefully so as not to tip his load, he returned to the seating area and settled the stack on the table. The top box he set aside. The second one he handed to Borner with a silent challenge.

Borner took the hint and opened the box. Inside was a rolled parchment, which he carefully retrieved. He had already guessed the contents. He unrolled the scroll and stared at the text; it was a scrap of a longer piece. “Scroll 2, Chapter 5.”

Borner followed the text with his finger as he read the words aloud. On one hand, he had read from this scroll only weeks ago and on the other, this was a meager scrap of a lost legacy. He dismissed the nostalgia and returned to the game at hand, having passed the first test.

“The seller said that the calligraphy was done by Arimas himself,” Timmaus said. “I’m not sure I believe him, but the parchment is ancient, don’t you agree?”

“The parchment is a little too evenly brown to my eye,” Borner said. “Parchment turns brown first at the places where the oils from our fingers have slowly dissolved the skin. The shape of the letters is a hand I have not seen before, although I have never seen a fabled scroll of Arimas’ hand. However, you are asking a priest for whom only the words are important; age and provenance are another man’s game.”

Borner allowed himself to linger over the text a moment more before he returned it to the box. Carefully he dropped the lid over the box and pushed it down. He did not expect to see those words again, ever.

“Go ahead, try the third box,” Timmaus said with a slight smile. He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together in his lap. Borner had no idea what to expect, whether this was another test or simply an act of braggadocio. With due deliberation, he set aside the second box and pulled the third one closer. The lid was tight.

When he finally freed the lid, and set it to the side, Borner was treated to the sight of a truly ancient manuscript. The parchment was aged and stiff, almost brittle to the touch. At bottom of the box were a few flakes, confirming the brittleness of the document.

“Oh. Oh my,” Borner said in a reverential whisper. He stared down at the letters and looked up to the owner’s face, only to see a large smile. “This is Bodi script, used before the box letters we have today, very elegant. Have you had it translated?”

“Those whom I have consulted find the text incomprehensible,” Timmaus said. “Ah, the tea has arrived.”

“May I try?” Borner said, peering back at the text. He did not wait for an answer. “‘My enemies fleeing, I and so-and-so hunter sausage of Holy Stone came?’ Ah, my first mistake is the dependent clause, Left Hand. The sentence begins ‘Fleeing my enemies I and Esher Hunt-Friend came’ to the sausage of Holy-Stone,’ which is probably a named place, like an outdoor altar.

“‘Sausage’ is a problem, but I sense a logic. Sausage is meat and casing, and even in Parmean the noun refers to the casing in which one puts ground meat with spices. If sausage casing comes from animal gut, then what the text really says is that ‘he went into the gut of the Holy-Stone,’ which in good Parmean would probably be the bowels, the lower portion of the object.