The Untold Tale

Fifteen

We decide to make camp in the courtyard of the Lost Library. There is talk of doing so inside, but we both fear the effect of too much human interaction on the ancient books, and we don't want to leave the horses alone outside with the creature, just in case. On top of that, we are both terrified of what might happen if we had to light a fire around all that paper. Accidents do happen.

The courtyard is sheltered from the wind, and we don't mind sleeping outside again. Also, we seem to have acquired a guardian of our own. The creature is currently pacing the grounds, clearly searching for threats and reacclimatizing itself to its territory. That Pip and I, and the horses, are now apparently a part of said territory is only slightly discomforting. I do not fear its teeth any longer, but I do fear what might happen if it decides to sleep next to us and rolls over in the middle of the night.

The late afternoon sky above us is an endless ceiling of vaulted blue, and I cannot help but raise my face to the sunlight and smile at the scent of honest vegetation and book-dust. I stretch my shoulders back, and they make a pleasant pop as I work out the kinks of weeks in the saddle and an afternoon of sneaking about, slope-shouldered and cautious.

The water in the fountain is clean, still bubbling up from some underground well after all these centuries. We refill our drinking skins and the travel pot we use for campfire-tea, and then I decide to be the first to brave the brisk temperature to wash away the travel grime. The fountain is a far cry from the warm bath for which I have been yearning, though. I seem to be spending every blasted day of this quest lusting for a good shave and a hot bath. It's starting to get farcical.

Pip is sitting on the edge of the fountain as I bathe, turning the vellum over and over in her hands.

Something has been niggling at me since our encounter in the Library, and instead of tumbling it about in my head, I finally ask: "What did you mean, that you know what it feels like to be tied down? To be a slave?"

Pip jerks back from me so quickly, eyes so wide, that I wonder if something has bitten her. Surely my words couldn't have been that shocking?

"Nothing," she lies, but it is a knee-jerk reflex. She catches herself in it and sighs, her whole posture deflating. "I mean, you know that I... "

I hadn't wanted to bring it up, especially since it's been so long since Pip has had a fit, but I desire clarification, and so I say, slowly, "The Viceroy?"

Pip goes stiff all over, eyes tight and the skin around them translucent with fatigue. "Yes," she grinds out between clenched teeth.

Then she cries out. She drops the parchment and jams the heels of her hands against her temples, fingers balled into fists.

"No, no," she moans, staggering back a step.

I am up and partway out of the fountain before she holds out her hands to halt me.

"I'm fine," she wheezes. "I'm fine. Just... stay there. Over there. For a minute. Please."

I stand in the fountain, my nudity forgotten, waiting, goose bumps crawling up my legs, clenching my thighs. Eventually, Pip seems to regain control of herself, shaking out her limbs and rolling her head back. There is a pop loud enough that even I can hear it, and then she sighs, long and drawn out and weary. I feel the tension flow out of her frame from within my own.

Like a slowly unfolding marionette, she reaches down and retrieves the scroll, then checks it over for damage. It's fine. She turns it over a few more times, as if hoping that its fall has jostled some more information from it.

With a grunt of frustration, she goes to her saddlebags and withdraws a pot of ink and a travel quill. Decisively, she draws a stroke across the top of the scroll. She watches it for a long moment, and then draws back, eyes wide.