The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

The Royal Archives

The arches over the doors bore the sacred designs and tenants etched into their gentle undulations. Able forgot himself and craned his neck after them as he followed the general's aide through the towering hallways of the Royal Archives. Chessie was better at remembering her dignity but did stall at least once when a stained glass window painted her in amber, green, and purple.

The aide stopped beside one of the doors and curtly announced, "Naval Archives." He then began to unlock it without attempting discretion. Small wonder, as the three mechanisms that he was manipulating would surely give even Wren Holdfast trouble. The iron-bound door was the height of two men, yet it swung open without a sound.

Able held up the lantern he'd been given so its warm glow glinted off the marble floor inside. He stepped over the threshold with Chessie at his heels.

"You have four hours," the aide reminded them then swung the door closed. That was not silent at all, and as the echoes of the slam faded down the hall, the clicks of the locks going back into place resounded inside the room.

Able Houser, son of a dead fisherman, was locked inside the Royal Archives. Shamelessly, he raised the lantern higher and took a minute just to savor this. Rows of bookcases stood like soldiers in formation before them, and the shelves lining the walls answered their stance. The bas reliefs that ran about the crown of the chamber were even nautical themed, of ships and waves and the cardinal directions.

Chessie wandered over to the closest shelf and pulled out an ancient text, the parchment curling. Able nearly hissed at her to be careful with it even though she was clearly being just that. She was frowning in understandable confusion. "What is this writing?"

"Bantara." Able smiled a touch as he joined her. "In old Larbantry, this is how the nobles, scholars, and especially the clergy wrote. Because the knowledge of it was so exclusive, it didn't stand a chance when the Merchant Court adopted and spread the Dagobari alphabet. But the elite found that a boon, I think, as it remained something of a secret script while literacy became more common. All the royal records are kept in it, all royal edicts written in it, another boon, I think, as it adds an aura of reverence to the whole business. Most people only see Bantara used in the Books of the Prophets, you see."

"And you can read it?"

"Of course."

"So you've read them, these books the Prophets wrote?" She really would not let that be, would she?

"...long time ago, but yes."

"And?"

Able ran his hand over his face then looked back at the door. He scratched his head and mumbled, "You sure are curious about them, aren't you?" Of course she was. They threatened her existence. He should understand that.

"And you're awful skittish about them," she replied with a raised eyebrow. "Why?" Was she really going to insist they do this here? In the very heart of Larbantry? Although that was his own damn fault at this point.

Able gently took the parchment from her hand and replaced it on the shelf. He then motioned for her to follow him away from the door and into the blue light the windows cast across the back of the room. Iron frames filled in with glass to mimic the seas, the effect broken by the crisscrossed shadows of the iron bars beyond them. One of the safest rooms in one of the most secure places in the world.

"Able, you're trembling."

"Because what you're trying to get me to tell you is...most lightly put, illegal." He set the lantern on the closest of the two worktables then set Constance Driver's record file beside it.