Mercedes Lackey - The Robin And The Kestrel

Finally, his foot encountered grass; thick, well-tended grass, by the feel of it. In the summer it must be like a plush carpet. Very difficult to achieve and maintain that effect; now he knew what the poor novices here spent their disciplinary time doing.

Praying and weeding; praying the weeds don't come back . He smiled a little, but it was a smile without humor. What need had an Abbey for a lawn like that? He wondered if the surly Brother Pierce was permitted to walk in this garden; such a lawn would make a barefoot "penance" into a sensual pleasure.

Two more windows_then his hand encountered a frame that did not mark a window, but a doorway. Exactly the place he wanted!

The door was unlocked, and swung open at a touch, without the creaking that the kitchen door would likely have emitted. A tiny vigil-lamp burned beside it on the inside wall. He slipped inside, Robin followed, and they closed the door lest a draft give them away.

This doorway gave out on a short hall; they followed it to the end, where it intersected with a much larger hall. He thought for a moment, trying out the pattern of most Abbeys in his mind.

The Library was always next to the Scriptorium, where the manuscripts and books were copied. The Scriptorium needed very good light, which generally meant a southern exposure; the Library demanded much less, lest the manuscripts fade. He thought that the wall they had come in on faced south_

There were two doors to the left; none to the right. He went left, and opened the one to the room that had an outside wall.

The smell told him it was the Scriptorium; wet ink and paint drying.

So the room across the hallway should be the Library.

He tried the door; it was locked. He smiled to himself in great satisfaction. He knew from all his other clandestine forays that if the Library was locked, it would definitely not be not guarded or watched. Locked, because every Library had some "forbidden" work in it that the novices spent their entire novitiate trying to get at to read. But it would not be guarded, because, of course, novices would not dare to remove the treasured tome, lest they be caught with it in their possession.

But the locks of Libraries, as he had reason to know, were built to impress, not for efficiency.

Gwyna might be skilled at picking pockets, but he was a Master of Library Locks.

It was a matter of heartbeats with the help of a long, slender wire and a bit of wood. The lock fell open, and the door swung inward.

To his relief, there were more of those tiny vigil-lamps burning here; they would not have to work blind. As Gwyna closed the door behind him, softly, he studied the bookshelves, and suddenly realized with dismay that he had no idea where in all of this to start!

There were hundreds of books in here, not the mere two or three dozen he had expected! Bookshelves filled the room, reaching from floor to ceiling, and all of the shelves were full. If they were cataloged in any way, he didn't know what it was. The key to all this probably resided in the Librarian's head_

As he gazed at the wealth of books in an agony of despair, he shoved his hands down into the pockets of his breeches_and encountered a small, hard lump wrapped in silk.

The pendant!

In a heartbeat, Talaysen's lessons on the laws of magic flashed into his mind. What once was one is always connected. Things that are related are connected. Things that are similar are connected _

It was the second law that he needed to use now. Things that were related were connected, and under the proper circumstances, they would attract or resonate with each other. Since the pendant had something to do with the Ghost, it followed that the pendant could lead him to something else that related to the Ghost.

He hoped.

As Gwyna watched him curiously, he took the pendant out of its silk wrapping, wincing a little at the discordant "music," and held it in his hands, tuning his mind to find more of the same "music."

There was music of various sorts all around him; many, many of these volumes had something to do with magic. Some of it was pleasant; some absolutely entrancing, the kind he could get lost inside for hours.

But he didn't have hours, and he wasn't looking for anything pleasant.

Then he heard it; a thin, evil trickle that could not by any stretch of the imagination be called a melody. A discordance of which the pendant was only a small part.

He turned and followed it; it led him to a panel on the back wall, to one side of one of the enormous bookcases. It was a panel like many others in the room, but when he tapped it slightly, he thought it sounded hollow.

The only trouble was, he couldn't open it.

He tried everything he could think of; pressed anything that looked like it might be a release, and all to no avail. Gwyna took her turn at it, but her skill was not in this, and she was no more successful than he was.

He was about to make another attempt, this time at forcing the panel open, when he felt a presence behind him.

He turned; Gwyna whirled at the same instant.

Brother Reymond stared at them in dumb shock, his mouth agape with surprise.

Robin didn't wait to see what he'd do; she muffled his mouth with both hands, as Kestrel grabbed his arms. Together they wrestled him around and stuffed him in a corner.

He looked at her; she looked back at him. "Now what?" she mouthed at him.

He shrugged. "We t-try to convince him," he whispered back, then looked into the frightened eyes of the Brother.

Robin only rolled her eyes skyward, and tightened her hold on Brother Reymond's mouth.

Afterwards, Jonny wasn't certain how long it took him to convince Reymond simply to stay quiet until he had heard them out. It felt like forever, and he was certain that Robin's arms were aching with strain by the time Reymond nodded a frightened agreement.

Things went a little faster, after that. She told him in detail about the Skull Hill Ghost, and the curious exception he had insisted on making to his promise. Then Kestrel told him about Padrik and his Healing Services.

Reymond's eyes grew larger and larger, the more they spoke, but his mouth betrayed, not fear, but dismay. When Robin related her little stay with the Patsonos, his brows drew together in anger_but when Kestrel finally told him about the demon-summoning, and the fate of Orlina Woolwright, he could hardly contain his agitation.

"Dear and gracious God!" he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper when they were done. "I never thought_I didn't want to think_but this explains all those visitors to the Abbot, the ones who seem to be in a trance, and who disappear, never to be seen again! They all wear pendants like that one"_he indicated the wrought-iron pendant in Kestrel's hand_"and that alone would convince me that you are telling the truth! But I have learned other things since you were last here...."

"Like what?" Robin asked harshly, as his voice trailed off. He flushed with shame.

"About your Ghost," he said, unhappily. "I have found manuscripts that told me he was bound there by the first Abbot, some fifty years ago or so. I also learned that there are other manuscripts that would tell me more, much more, if only we could find them."

"What do you mean?" Robin asked, her face puzzled. "Are they lost? Were they taken away?"

He shook his head, growing more and more distracted with every word. "No, they were hidden, somewhere in this Library, but I cannot for the life of me find them, and I have been trying _"

Jonny cleared his throat, very delicately, and Brother Reymond started. "C-could they b-be b-behind this p-panel?" he asked, touching the offending bit of wood.

Brother Reymond looked at the panel curiously_then suddenly lost all his color. He reached out with trembling fingers, and did something complicated among the carvings.