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The constant stream of people entering and exiting the private studies of the Great Library remained constant for over an hour. There were palace guards, court officials, librarian custodians, priests, officers of varying ranks, and a host of servants. Even the Queen’s Chief Stewardess made an appearance. Nicobar was quite sure it was the most activity the library had seen since its construction.
His brother had insisted that Nicobar stay out of the way while he discovered what news was to be had. So Nicobar sat in a secluded corner and focused on his studies the best he could. But the constant drum of passersby made it impossible to concentrate, even if his brother’s shocking revelation from earlier that evening had not still been demanding his attention.
Colm had sent a message insisting that he come to the library right away, not the first time Nicobar had received an urgent request to meet him at some far flung point in the city. But usually they amounted to little more than pleas for coin or help tracking down some valuable artifact that was rumored in the city market, artifacts which invariably turned out to be tin daggers.
But tonight, there was no doubt something important was afoot. When he arrived at the library, Colm immediately announced the Chief Librarian had been murdered, and before he had time to explain, he got called away. His brother whispered that he should wait out of the way, and not to talk to anyone.
If true, if Gregor Algemon had indeed been murdered, it would be a scandal the likes of which had not been seen in Crown Hill for more than a century. A pickpocket loose in the city made news. The Queen’s rule depended entirely on her ability to maintain order, and she was zealous in pursuing it. A murderer so close to the palace compounds would face the entirety of the Queen’s special forces and the city watch hunting for him. He would not stand a chance.
Nicobar had only been privileged enough to meet the Chief Librarian on one occasion. CL. Algemon had been invited to lecture to the Tower’s permanent delegation in Crown Hill, and Nicobar had been selected to serve as escort to the distinguished scholar. Few words were exchanged, and he got the impression the Librarian was a taciturn man, but Nicobar had been enchanted with his erudite manner . This was a man steeped in knowledge, one who even the wisest of men listened to closely.
But he also was very old. Perhaps his death only looked suspicious. More likely, his heart had failed. Or perhaps he had collapsed, hitting his head in the process. Nicobar started cataloging all the possible scenarios, going so far as to jot them down on his parchment before him. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that murder was out of the question.
So when Colm returned, and quickly ushered him out into the empty hallway, Nicobar could not have been more astonished at what his brother had to say.
“The Chief Librarian was stabbed with a poisoned dagger. Death was painful, and not quick.”
“Who would do such a thing?” Nicobar asked in horror.
“Someone who wanted information. And I think I know just the information he was looking for.” Colm pulled a map from his Herald’s bag he always wore at his side, a tattered old map painted in faded oils, the kind of map that was no longer made, and Nicobar knew that it must be very old. He saw enough to recognize that it showed a remote area of the borderlands, near the Great Forest.
“Where did you get that?”
“I stole it. Let’s go someplace we can talk. I have a lot to tell you.”
Nicobar sighed. It was another one of his brother’s crazy plots, the kind which usually ended with him taking the brunt of the blame. But never before had murder been involved. And looking at the enthusiastic expression on his brother’s face as he folded the map and returned it to his waist pouch, it would be especially difficult to talk sense into him.