Mark Newton - The Book of Transformations

‘Sele of Urtica, friend. Please, take a seat.’ Fulcrom handed the papers back and indicated the chair. Hastily, he lit two blue paper lanterns and placed them at opposite ends of his dark wooden desk.

The traveller seated himself with a gentle sigh, and placed his hands on the tabletop. ‘It is indeed reassuring to see one so efficient in his day-to-day business,’ he began, looking around at the inordinately neat office. ‘It brings to mind my own quarters.’ His rasping voice carried a thick accent, one which accentuated each word — particularly the ends — with clarity.

Fulcrom never really noticed the neatly stacked piles of paper, the symmetrically organized writing implements and notebooks. ‘I just can’t seem to work any other way. So, stranger — how can I help?’

‘My name is Ulryk.’

‘I’m Investigator Fulcrom. You’re no longer at your monastery I see?’

‘How did you…?’ The priest paused. ‘The seals on the documents. Of course.’

Fulcrom acknowledged the comment. ‘I’m intrigued — how did you end up in Villjamur?’

‘I was a chief librarian of a Jorsalir monastery based further along the Archipelago, and I have spent many months making my way through the snow to here.’

‘It looks like you have spent a lot of time writing, judging by the black ink staining your nails,’ Fulcrom observed. ‘Your fingers, too, seem to show signs of being a scribe.’ He sat opposite and waited for the man to speak.

The priest gave a beatific smile. ‘I see why you are an investigator. Yes, I have spent… decades hunched with a stylus.’

‘What did you write about?’

‘I translate books,’ Ulryk replied. ‘Religious texts of major significance. Very few people can read the languages with which I am familiar. I sought to make the — ’ he paused briefly ‘ — sacred teachings of the Jorsalir church better known.’

‘And is that why you have come to Villjamur, to further your translation work?’

Another smile, this one more distant. ‘You could say such things. Tell me, investigator. How well do you know your city?’

‘I’ve seen much of it, if that’s what you mean. I know most districts, most streets.’ Fulcrom chuckled. ‘Why, do you require a guide?’

‘I very much doubt a guide could show me where I need to go, precisely. No, I need an inquisitive mind most of all, and someone to permit me access to some of the labyrinthine depths of this city.’

‘I’m familiar, to some extent, with the ancient passageways.’

‘This city is older than you think, investigator.’

‘I’m not sure I follow you entirely. Why do you need to go under the city?’

‘What if I were to tell you that all you know of the history of this world was a lie?’

‘I’d say you were mad.’

Ulryk laughed a surprisingly hearty laugh, all the time shaking his head. He rubbed his eyes — here was a tired man indeed, Fulcrom thought.

‘Many say that I am, investigator,’ Ulryk muttered. ‘May I check with you, how the laws are between the church and the Inquisition? Is the Villjamur Inquisition bound to the church? It does not happen in other cities but I must be certain.’

‘There are no connections, so I’m afraid backhand deals or special favours are out of the question, if that’s what you mean,’ Fulcrom replied, which seemed to satisfy the priest. ‘Look, I can’t really help you without knowing a little more information.’

‘I would not ask for such deals, but I am a man in need of help, investigator, and I have few other places to go. I need your assistance in granting me access to certain quarters of city, and I can see that from my experiences getting into the city, these are times of high security.’

‘You could say that,’ Fulcrom replied. A man who comes to the Inquisition for help often feels powerless, though rarely a criminal. What is he after exactly?

Ulryk’s gentle gaze betrayed nothing. ‘I have travelled from Blortath, one of the non-Empire islands.’

‘It surprises me that the Jorsalir church are represented outside the Empire.’

‘They like to keep it quiet in case Imperial rulers think they are up to mischief. The largest Jorsalir monastery of them all, Regin Abbey, is unknown to few save ecclesiastics. It contains the largest library of texts in the Boreal Archipelago, and my work was maintaining these works. We have millions of books, investigator.’ Ulryk reclined into his chair. ‘Volumes of leather made from the hides of animals long extinct from our lands, and languages long forgotten. They were written by the great civilizations of Azimuth and Mathema, and before then, in the legendary Rumel Wars.’

‘Books exist for that long?’

‘If they are well looked after. Admittedly, some are translations of earlier sources, and thus not as reliable. Some are too precious to even open, which makes one wonder if it can even be called a text any longer, more an artefact.’

‘So this is what you do then, as librarian?’ Fulcrom enquired. ‘You translate books and look after their storage. Hardly seems the cause for such a journey, though I must admit it sounds a rather pleasant existence.’

‘For years it used to be so — that is, until I learned that much we know about the world is inaccurate.’

‘A bold claim.’ Fulcrom was endeared by the priest. There was something about his manner that intrigued him, a deep sense of calm, of peace, even though the lanterns exaggerated the angles of his face, making him look older.

Ulryk leaned forward across the desk with a sudden urgency. He paused to gaze around, then whispered, ‘My discoveries have caused a schism within the church. They will come for me.’

Fulcrom wondered just how much trouble a librarian could get into.

*

They took tea and talked. Fulcrom lit a yellow lantern. Given that he had no business with the Knights for another few hours yet, he allowed Ulryk to continue his story.

‘Why bother telling me all these things?’ Fulcrom asked.

After a moment’s reflection, Ulryk said, ‘Because I am an honest man.’

‘You’d be surprised how many criminals have told me just the same.’

A warm smile from the priest. ‘They might still be honest men, investigator, even if they caused harm. But I feel the need to unburden myself and share this knowledge — it is no good just in my head and you are the first secular official I have spoken to for… years.’ Ulryk chuckled. ‘My, it has been a long time. It feels a relief to finally tell these things to someone who would not punish me for the act.’

‘You mentioned a schism in the church,’ Fulcrom said. ‘What’s the split over?’

‘The gods,’ Ulryk sighed, suddenly on edge. He slid the chair back and shuffled slowly to the tiny window alongside the bookshelves. There he gazed out across the street, his face creased with anxiety. ‘Are we… quite safe, here?’

‘This is the Inquisition,’ Fulcrom declared. ‘As a free man, you’re in no safer place.’

‘Good,’ Ulryk continued. ‘Yes, the split is over gods, but investigator, what do you know of the gods of this world?’

‘I’m not much of a religious man, I’m afraid,’ Fulcrom offered apologetically.

Ulryk waved for him to go on. ‘Tell me their tales, as you have heard it. Please, indulge me this once.’

‘Well, uh, all I know is that the creator gods, Bohr and Astrid, were part of the legendary Dawnir race in the heavens that came to this plane of existence. The two moons of this world were named after them. They had great powers and could channel the world’s energies. Then one of the races they created — the Pithicus? — formed a rival clan, and the War of Gods followed. That was, uh, a few hundred thousand years ago?’ Fulcrom laughed. ‘It sounds ridiculous, but it’s all I know I’m afraid — I neglect to go to church these days. I guess I have too much work to do.’