The Thieves’ Guild

Chapter Thirty

The Great Library of Palanthas was one of the city’s most famous buildings, one of the most well known buildings in all of Krynn. Here for uncounted centuries the Aesthetics of the Library had watched over and maintained the greatest repository of knowledge ever gathered, and for most of those centuries they had also attended the master of the library, the historian Astinus, who recorded the history of Krynn as it occurred. When the old master disappeared in the wake of the Chaos War, taking the contents of the library with him, the library’s monks continued their duties as best they could, painfully rebuilding their vast collection of books, scrolls, documents, and artifacts. Though Krynn had lost its chronicler and they mourned the absence of their undying leader, they struggled on.

The library was ever busy collecting, cataloging, and storing every piece of information that might be gathered from the world of Krynn, from artifacts of cultures and peoples vanished before the Age of Dreams, to the binding and storing of the volumes of legal proceedings generated by Palanthas’s Dark Knight overlords. Where before the Chaos War one man had recorded the history of Krynn, now a thousand Aesthetics scoured the lands and seas for history to observe and memorialize as it was happening.

Brother Gillam had long since ceased pondering the significance of the loss of Astinus. The fate of Krynn’s chronicler was ancient history, so far as Brother Gillam was concerned. Tonight, Brother Gillam’s primary duty was that of night roof guard of the Great Library. To that end a stout mace dangled from the belt of his brown Aesthetics’ robe. Brother Bertrem, the old man who was now the leader of the Order of Aesthetics, being a prudent fellow, had declared several years ago that all night roof guards be drawn from the Astronomical Sciences division of the library. Thus, they could both guard the library (a pointless task, as no one dared desecrate this sacred building by breaking into it) and also study the new stars of Krynn.

At the end of the Chaos War, when the Graygem shattered, all the old stars and constellations had disappeared and were replaced in the night sky by the myriad fragments of the Graygem. Astronomy, as a science, was reborn, and Brother Gillam was one of its foremost scholars. In his career, he had already named over a hundred stars, from the dim red New Forge in the northern sky, to the hazy cluster near the south polar star, a cluster he had named the Dwarfs Beard.

The first breath of autumn was in the air this night, and it promised to be a fine evening for viewing the stars. Brother Gillam settled himself atop a stool beside a broad wooden desk, quite near the edge of the southern wall of the housing wing of the library, the darkest corner of the roof and thus the best place to observe the sky. This wing was also the only one whose roof was flat. The roofs of the library’s other wings were all steeply pitched, but the roof of the housing wing had been constructed flat to serve as a rooftop garden on one end as well as an observatory. This meant, of course, that his guard duties only required him to patrol a small area, leaving him plenty of time for study.

In the rooms below him, most of the Aesthetics were fast asleep, but Gillam’s work was just At his left hand stood a dark lantern, smelling of hot metal, and on the desk before him was spread a star map, beside it a bottle of ink, and a quill. The mace hanging from his belt proved to be as bothersome as ever, so as he always did, he unclipped it and dropped it into one of the desk drawers. He leaned over the map, flashed the light of the dark lantern over it for a moment, lifted the quill, and turned his gaze to the sky.

The stars of Krynn wheeled slowly overhead. His breath catching in his throat, Brother Gillam spotted a dim twinkle of blue rising in the east, one he didn’t immediately recognize His hand already reaching out to flip open the dark lantern, he turned his attention away from the sky in time to see the desk, the lantern and ink bottle atop it, slide across the roof and come to a thudding halt against one of the library’s many chimneys, very near the edge of the roof. It was not this, though, that caused the Aesthetic to cry out. It was the breeze that lifted the map from the desk and sent it fluttering in the air. Brother Gillam leaped from his stool and dashed after it just in time to watch the map rise and disappear into the dark Palanthian night.

A dagger was already at his throat, while the second thief was still scrambling onto the roof. The means of their ascent, as well as the cause of the desk’s movement, became all too apparent as the second thief quickly wound up a black rope and stowed it into some deep, hidden pocket in his dark outfit, but only after dislodging the small grappling hook that had caught one of the desk’s sturdy legs and sent it hurtling across the library roof.

It was a good thing his mace was safely stowed in the desk drawer, Brother Gillam thought with a sigh of relief. Now he wouldn’t be obligated to try to use it. The thief holding the dagger was somewhat smaller than himself, but he had no doubt that he or she-perhaps a she, judging from the eyes glittering darkly over her mask-would kill him at the slightest move. Brother Gillam needn’t be tempted to resist. He only hoped he wouldn’t faint, something he was prone to do when excited.

“Take us to Bertrem,” the female thief hissed, slapping the monk for emphasis. “We’re not here to steal anything or hurt anyone, but if you give us trouble or raise the alarm…” Her voice trailed off as she waggled the dagger at the Aesthetic’s nose. He quickly nodded his silent assent, especially after the grim look her accomplice gave him.

Among the many chimneys and ventilation shafts that sprouted forestlike from this section of the roof of the Great Library, there were also several small wooden sheds. One was used for storage, partly for garden equipment but mostly for the paraphernalia of the astrological sciences division. Another served as a shelter for those whose job it was to patrol the rooftop. There were even a few pigeon coops, used to house the carrier pigeons with which the Aesthetics sometimes maintained contact with their far-traveling scholars. One, however, covered a staircase that led down to the living quarters of the Aesthetics. It was a testament to the reverence most people held for the Great Library that no lock barred this’ door. Prodded from behind by the thief’s dagger, Gillam opened it quickly and led the two thieves down the dark staircase within.

“Bertrem, wake up!” a stern, familiar voice ordered.

“Yes, master!” The elderly Aesthetic sat bolt upright in his bed, nervous sweat popping out on his brow. Instinctively, he moved to rise from the bed, but the aching in his bones and the slowness of his joints slowly brought him back to reality. His room was dark, and he could tell by the faint sound of snoring come from other rooms that the night was not far progressed.

“A dream,” he sighed, dabbing at his brow with the corner of a bedsheet. He felt along the table beside the bed for his spectacles, found them, and slipped them onto his nose. He glanced around the room as though to assure himself of his own words, peering nervously at the deeper shadows.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. His room was spartan, with few furnishings beyond those absolutely essential for his needs: a bed and night table, a desk and chair, a wardrobe, a washstand, hearth and coal shuttle, and the inevitable bookshelves. A little light shone under his door, dimly illuminating a plain square of rug.

He was about to remove his spectacles and return to his slumber when the sound of the door’s knob made his eyes pop. To his horror, the door began to swing open, pushed by a pale white hand. The elderly Aesthetic trembled, clutched his blankets almost up to his eyes, and sought for his voice in a throat strangled by fear.

“Astinus?” he finally managed to croak.

“Master Bertrem?” the intruder responded in a voice tight with its own fear.

Bertrem relaxed, realizing with a profound sigh that it was just one of the Aesthetics. He wondered what terrible thing had caused the young scholar to disturb his sleep. Fire? Flood? Rats devouring the books? Kender?

His answer came as two darkly clad figures stole in behind the young Aesthetic. They rushed at the old man in his bed, and despite his advanced age (rumored to be closer to a hundred than to ninety), he nearly climbed the wall trying to get away from them. Brother Gillam spun, dashed out into the hall to call for help, and fainted before the first cry had passed his lips.

Alynthia wrestled the old Aesthetic back down on his bed and clapped a gloved hand over his mouth before he could find his voice and raise an alarm. She turned to Cael and hissed, “Drag that other one back in here, and shut the door.” The elf complied, unceremoniously dumping the brown-robed scholar on the square rug beside the bed.

“Bind him and gag his mouth,” she said.

Cael made quick work of him, tying his wrists behind his back with the black cord they had used to scale the library’s wall, then stuffed one of Bertrem’s dirty socks into the Aesthetic’s mouth and took up a position beside the door.

Alynthia turned back to Brother Bertrem. The old man trembled like a reed. His spectacles had slipped off his nose and hung comically from one ear. His feet were hopelessly tangled in his own bedsheets.

“I’m going to remove my hand now, old man,” she said gently. “We’re not here to hurt you or to steal anything. We simply want some information, to look at a book or two for a few hours in peace and without any warning raised. Do you understand?”

For a moment, Brother Bertrem hesitated, but as his assailant’s dark eyes hardened, he nodded. Alynthia lifted her hand, but left it hovering over him, ready to clap down again. Bertrem kept his lips pressed firmly together, though few other parts of his body remained as still.

“We are looking for information about the items taken from the Thieves’ Guild on the Night of Black Hammers,” the female thief quietly informed him. “Do you know of this?”

“I compiled the information myself,” Bertrem whispered.

“Will you take us to it?” she asked.

He nodded.

Warily, Alynthia removed herself from atop the Aesthetic and helped him untangle his feet from the bedclothes. Throwing a robe around his frail old shoulders, she guided him towards the door, which Cael stood ready to open. Brother Bertrem paused and settled his spectacles back atop the bridge of his nose. Then he nodded. Cael opened the door.

The hallway beyond led past a long row of doors to their right, beyond which lay the private chambers of the Aesthetics of the Library, while to their left the wall was lined with tall, narrow, stained-glass windows that looked north toward the city’s center. Brother Bertrem led them quietly along the hall, his long robe swishing around his slippered feet. Behind some doors, they heard rattling snores, behind others, the scratches of pens across parchment or the rattles of turning pages.

This hallway eventually left the Aesthetics’ quarters behind and, passing beneath an arch, continued until it ended at a large ornate door. Halfway down this hall, another door opened to the right. Bertrem stopped here, opened the door, and entered the library’s Research wing.

This wing was actually one cavernous room, the great arched roof lost in shadows high overhead. Down the center of the chamber ran row after row of desks, tables, and cubicles, with here and there a lamp or candle burning for any who might come late to study. All around the outer walls of the room, rows of bookshelves towered up into darkness. Wheeled ladders, attached to rails above and below, provided access to these shelves. Some of the ladders reached four stories high, so great had been the collection of books, tomes, and scrolls in the library’s heyday. Now, sadly, many of the shelves were empty.

Above the ladders ran a narrow iron-railed balcony, adding yet another level of shelves. This room was but one chamber of the Great Library. There were others, many far larger.

Alynthia stared about her in awe. Even Cael, who had frequented the public sections of the Library before his capture and induction into the Guild, was nearly overcome by the sense of grandeur this chamber instilled in those who first entered it. There was a templelike quiet here, a feeling of presence, almost a watchfulness. This place was one of the private sections of the library, reserved for the Aesthetics, entered by the uninitiated only by invitation and under close supervision.

Had they come here without a guide, probably they could have spent years searching for the books they sought, but Brother Bertrem led them unerringly to their goal. Up a twisting stair of wrought iron to the high balcony above, he climbed, puffing with the exertion. Alynthia followed on his heels, and Cael came behind, bearing a lamp taken from one of the tables. Along the balcony for half its eastern length they went to a shelf as similar to all the others as a tree is to other trees in a forest. But with hardly a scan of the bindings, he quickly withdrew three large tomes, turned, and dropped them into Alynthia’s waiting arms.

Brother Bertrem yawned like a cave. He missed his sleep, but he didn’t dare leave the two thieves alone with his precious books. Not that he could have stopped them if they decided to steal the books, but he knew that as long as they were here, he wouldn’t be able to close his eyes.

Alynthia slammed a book shut, sending a boom echoing through the cavernous chamber, disturbing the reverent silence. “Nothing,” she snarled. “There’s nothing here either.”

Blinking back sleep himself, Cael shook his head sympathetically, then scratched at the prickling beneath his mask for perhaps the thousandth time that night. Without thinking, he tugged the mask aside to better scratch the unaccustomed facial hair.

Brother Bertrem gasped, and, looking up, Cael found the old man staring at him in horror. Quickly, his face shading to scarlet at his careless mistake, he jerked the mask back over his face.

Alynthia looked up from the book she had just opened. A half dozen others were stacked beside this one on the table around which they sat. “What is it?” she asked.

“N-nothing,” Brother Bertrem stammered. “l thought I saw a ghost, was all. A ghost of an old hero.”

The elf’s eyes narrowed at these strange words, but Cael said nothing.

Brother Bertrem continued, “There are ghosts here, of course. One meets them sometimes at night among the stacks, ghosts of old scholars still trying to solve the mysteries that consumed their lives, ghosts of historians….” His voice trailed off as his gaze wandered to a small, nondescript door in the northwester corner of the chamber.

Alynthia shrugged and returned her attention to the book. Cael watched the Aesthetic closely now, and found the old man’s gaze riveted upon him.

An hour later, the book slammed shut, booming noisily. Alynthia picked it up and shook it as though she would tear it in half. Brother Bertrem half-rose from his seat, reaching out in his concern for the book, his fingers twitching. He grabbed it away from her before she could harm it and clutched it to his chest.

“This is impossible,” Alynthia complained.

“What exactly is it that you seek?” Brother Bertrem asked wearily. He had already asked this same question a dozen times in the hopes of speeding the departure of the thieves, but every time he asked it, Alynthia snarled to mind his own business.

“Information on one of the items found in the Guild treasuries after the Thieves’ Guild was destroyed,” Cael said quickly before Alynthia could repeat her customary answer. “They call it the Reliquary. I suppose it holds some old bones or something.”

Alynthia fumed at her red-bearded companion but said nothing.

“I don’t recall anything by that name,” Brother Bertrem said, while thoughtfully stroking his beard. “I created a complete inventory for the city senate, researching those items about which nothing was known. The Founderstone, for instance.”

“This item was said to be a small silver dragon,” Alynthia reluctantly admitted. “It is hollow, and inside, on a cushion of velvet, sits an old brown skull.”

The old Aesthetic pondered for a few moments, searching the ceiling with his dim eyes. “No,” he said at last. “I don’t recall anything by that description. Although it is entirely possible that some private looting took place among members of the raiding parties. Such allegations have been made in the past.”

“It would have been coveted by the Dark Knights,” Alynthia said, her voice lowered with disappointment. “Perhaps it was taken by the Lord Knight, Sir Kinsaid, before you had a chance to inventory it?”

“As far as I know, Sir Kinsaid took nothing from the scene that was not shown to me first, for historical purposes. In fact, Sir Kinsaid himself went to great pains to see that every item was carefully catalogued and recorded for posterity. I doubt he would have taken anything without my knowledge. There are many things about Sir Kinsaid that are questionable, but I believe he is sincere about preserving history.”

Alynthia stared in mute appeal at the elf, but he merely shook his head as if to say, You knew this was hopeless from the start. She turned back to Brother Bertrem.

“We thank you for your assistance, old man,” she said with a disappointed sigh.

“You are welcome. What use is all this knowledge if it is not shared?” he asked.

“We should have asked you earlier,” Cael said.

Brother Bertrem rose, eager for the thieves to be gone, eager to get back to his bed. “Shall I show you the way out?”

“We know the way,” Alynthia said.

“You may use the front door. I will let you out,” Brother Bertrem said. “After all, you seek knowledge, the same as other visitors to the Great Library.”

With a weary shrug, the two thieves rose and followed the elderly Aesthetic as he led them from the room.

Alynthia paused on the steps of the Great Library and looked back at the door as it closed behind them. “We could continue to search. It is possible he overlooked something,” she said.

“Not likely,” Cael answered. “He seems honest and wise to a fault.”

“What are we going to do, then?”

“Retrieve my staff. That’s the bargain, isn’t it? Afterwards, we’ll leave this city once and for all. Krynn is a wide world. Palanthas isn’t the center of it.” Cael’s words felt hollow. He felt no more real desire to leave Palanthas than to leave Alynthia.

Alynthia gasped, appalled by the idea, “Leave Palanthas! Leave the Guild?”

“The Guild has already abandoned you,” Cael retorted. “Even your own husband betrayed you. Why do you cling to it so?”

“My husband and the Guild are all I have, Cael,” she cried. “The Guild is my family. My husband has his faults, but he is wily, and maybe he has some plan in mind. The men and women under his command have been brothers and sisters to me. Do you know how it would feel to forfeit all that?”

“I suppose not,” Cael bitterly commented. “Seeing as how I’ve never had a family to lose.”

Alynthia took his hand and pulled it close. “All the more reason to rejoin the Guild. The Guild will protect us, give us a home. The Guild is family, kith and kin, people we can depend on, even for the protection of our lives.”

“They want to kill us!” Cael snapped.

“Please, Cael,” Alynthia cried.

He looked in her dark eyes. Facing innumerable dangers did not frighten the beautiful captain of thieves, but the thought of losing the Guild terrified her beyond description.

“Very well,” he sighed.

She smiled, pulling him close.

“First, my staff,” he finished.

At her dark look, he said, “You promised. The Reliquary is a hopeless quest. Now we get my staff. After that, I will stop at nothing to help you regain your place in your precious Guild.”

“Our precious Guild,” she corrected, taking his hand and leading him down the stairs to the street below. They turned toward the rising sun and hurried away.

A pair of eyes followed their progress until they were out of sight. Then the owner of those eyes, a red-robed sorceress, stepped from an alley across the street and turned west, toward the Shoikan Grove and the Three Moons shop.