Bookshops & Bonedust (Legends & Lattes, #0)(54)
She carefully quested around the edges, finding the borders of the space, like walls of ice that her fingernails skittered across. Holding her breath, she pushed deeper and found what was stored within.
It was moist, fleshy, slick with viscous fluid. She recoiled immediately, yanking her arm back. She stared at her fingertips, expecting to see them smeared with blood or something worse. They were clean, though.
“Not that page,” she said with a shiver, as her imagination supplied an idea of what precisely a necromancer might want to store for later use.
Turning to the next, she tried again and was relieved to touch an object she thought she recognized. Dozens of them, in fact. Coins? Pinching one, she felt writing against her fingertips, letters or sigils in sharp relief. But when she began to withdraw it, the coin bit into her flesh like razors, and she released it with a yelp. Pulling free, she found a network of fine cuts lacing her thumb and forefinger.
“Shit.” She moved to suck the oozing blood, but thought better of that and wiped her hand on her trousers instead.
“Satchel.” Fern grasped his ulna. “There’s not … not anything living in these, is there?”
Viv stopped with her hand hovering just above another page, mouth hanging open. “Okay, that’s a question I probably should’ve thought to ask.”
“Nothing living can survive for long in the underspace,” he replied. “But that does not mean there are no dangers stored within. Be wary.”
“Can’t survive for long? You mean if I put my arm—”
“A few moments will not harm you,” said Satchel, and Viv relaxed. “Not permanently, anyway,” he finished.
“Hells with it. One more,” said Viv, darting her hand into a fresh page. And this time, what she found made her smile immediately. “Now this I recognize.”
Her fingers traced a pommel and slipped around a leather-wrapped hilt that fit her palm so well, it might have been made just for her. Tightening her grip, she felt momentary resistance, as though the weapon was lodged in a thin scrim of ice. She imagined she could hear the grinding snap as it broke free and she hauled it smoothly into the open, foot by foot, until she held it before her in both hands.
A greatsword, broad and gleaming. As cold shed from the steel with a frosty keening in the warmth of the room, moisture beaded on the blade and ran down into the fuller.
Viv stared in awe, and a thrill of recognition passed through her, like a scent from childhood. “Gods,” she breathed, turning it to catch the light. The forging was exquisite, the balance superb. She ran a thumb appreciatively down the flat of the blade.
She glanced at Fern, who eyed it with a worried expression, and then at Satchel, who was hunched over again in that hunted posture.
Her stomach twisted. “What?” she asked, lowering the blade and taking a step back.
Suddenly, the surface of the page seemed to ripple. It should have been impossible to detect, since no light reflected from it, but still, it could be perceived, a vibration that matched a low thrum issuing from the void, like a horn sounding in a distant valley.
“What was that?” asked Fern, whiskers twitching nervously.
Satchel sighed, a feat he accomplished even without lungs. “The Lady’s warning. She knows when something is withdrawn. The book calls to her.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” cried Viv, but when he gazed back at her with those cold blue eyes, the answer was obvious.
“He has to protect the Lady’s secrets,” whispered Fern, then shouted, “Put it the fuck back!”
An avaricious flinch made Viv’s grip tighten on the hilt, and light seemed to drip along the keen edge of the blade, like sap down a tree trunk. “I don’t think that’s going to help any,” she protested.
“Maybe not, but what if it’s cursed, or … or … I don’t know. Evil?”
Viv snorted. “It’s a sword. A damned good sword.” But really, she didn’t want to admit how much the blade called to her, how very right it felt in her hands, and how loath she was to part with it. Besides, there was a more pressing issue, as far as she was concerned. “What we should be worried about is the book. Can she find this, Satchel? Can she tell where it is?”
“I cannot—”
“You cannot say,” sighed Viv. “Yeah, that sounds like a solid maybe to me.”
“We could destroy it?” suggested Fern. “Although the idea of burning a book … even this one …”
“You must not,” said Satchel, his hollow voice suddenly booming. The inscriptions along his bones bloomed with blue light, which faded almost as soon as it had appeared.
They both startled at the force of his admonition and shared a worried glance.
“Besides,” said Viv, “imagine what else might be in there. When Rackam and the rest do away with Varine …” She trailed off. “Maybe money wouldn’t be a problem anymore for your bookshop, you know?”
Fern wrinkled her nose and looked thoughtful at the same time. Viv could tell she was considering it. The rattkin surveyed the shambles of the shop’s interior: the stacked books, the wrapped parcels, the barely filled shelves. She dropped her paws to her sides, and exhaustion seemed to suddenly overcome her. “What do we do with it, though? We can’t keep the gods-damned thing here and hope that nothing goes wrong. Not now.”