Isn’t it funny how much clearer things become once you stop telling yourself that surely someone must be good at heart, despite all evidence to the contrary?
Anyway, I will be back at Stokesley soon. Gleinleigh would probably like me to leave tomorrow, but I haven’t told him yet that I’m done with the Lepperton fragment, in part because I want to stay for an auction Simeon has invited me to. There will be some Draconean inscriptions in the catalogue, and while I don’t expect any of them will be of particular scholarly value, I’d like to be sure before I leave. Unless you need me back sooner, of course, in which case I will be on the next available train. I confess I’m more than a little concerned about abandoning you at Stokesley.
Audrey
From: Kudshayn
To: Audrey Camherst
17 Messis
Stokesley, Greffen
Dear Audrey,
I shall be circumspect in what I write to you, not because I fear prying eyes, but because I gave my word to Lord Gleinleigh even as you did, and must respect that.
What you have said regarding the fragment in Mr. Lepperton’s possession makes a great deal of sense. With that in mind, I still struggle with the line at the end of the third tablet, but I think we can agree on its general sense even if the specific wording is subject to debate. It certainly fits with the patterns we saw in the underworld tablets, the sense that a particular thing was unknown to the figures in the tale, and that was what led ultimately to their individual defeats.
I have not been idle in your absence. There is another stylistic shift in this next section, much like the shifts we have seen before; I am glad to report that the text is, to use one of your phrases, easier sailing at the moment. Given that you will be staying a while longer in Falchester, I think it is likely I will have a good portion done by the time you return. There are elements in it I am very eager to discuss with you, as I am not certain what to make of them.
(Please forgive me for the vague wording. I find myself somewhat troubled, and not in the best of health, but as I said, I still feel obliged to be circumspect.)
If you find anything of great significance at the auction, I hope you will consider the Sanctuary as well as the Tomphries Museum. We are not wealthy, but the elders have expressed an interest in beginning to assert our claim upon the past, as circumstances allow.
May the sun keep you warm,
Kudshayn
FROM THE DIARY OF AUDREY CAMHERST
19 Messis
He planned this all from the start, I’m sure of it. I just don’t know how. Or why.
Perhaps if I write it out, I’ll figure out what he’s up to. Other than tormenting me, which I’m sure is just the icing on the cake for him. Aaron Mornett would never do anything for just one reason.
Start at the beginning, Audrey. And breathe.
He can’t have arranged it all. Simeon is the one who invited me to the auction, and he believes me about Mornett; they’d never work together. But it’s predictable enough that I would be there, I suppose, if he knew I was in town. Mornett, I mean. And if there’s something going on between him and Gleinleigh, he probably did.
I went to the Tomphries about an hour before the auction, to see Simeon. He was in his office as usual, buried amid piles of paper and books and half-unpacked crates like a mouse in his burrow. I hadn’t told him I was coming, so he nearly knocked over one of those stacks when he leapt up to greet me and lost his balance in his enthusiasm. I kept him on his feet until he could retrieve his cane—which he had stuck into the straw of one of the crates, straight through the mouth of the clay polychrome mask inside, thus proving that Simeon will change about two days after Kudshayn does. He looked around for a place where I could sit, but there never is one, so we went out to one of the benches in the hall to talk.
He burbled some happy greetings, then said, “You’ve been so quiet! I’ve barely heard a peep out of Stokesley since you went. Tell me that is because you’ve spent your every waking minute racing through the translation and you’re nearly done!”
His enthusiasm made me laugh, which is the first time I’ve felt like doing that since the dreadful fight with Cora. It really has helped, being back among my family; it feels like ages since I’ve seen them, even though I’ve only been gone a few months and I suppose it has—heavens, I’ve been at Stokesley for nearly half a year.
But the urge to laugh didn’t persist for long. I propped my back against the dracosphinx that forms one end of the bench. (It never ceases to amaze me that they just leave antiquities out in the hall for people to sit on, even if the antiquity in question is not very valuable.) Simeon knows me well enough to tell when I am worried; he sobered up very quickly and asked me what was wrong.
I laid it out more efficiently this time, having already subjected my family to the rambling version. Simeon frowned the whole way through, tapping his cane steadily against the floor. He didn’t interrupt me, though. When I was done, his first action was to make certain he had received all the letters I had sent—and that hadn’t even occurred to me until he brought it up, that Cora might have stopped some of them from going out. Whether she would have or not I don’t know, but nothing I wrote to Simeon was liable to provoke that kind of censorship; he got them all.
Then he said, “Well. On the one hand, I am inclined to grave suspicions where Mrs. Kefford and Aaron Mornett are concerned, and if Lord Gleinleigh is indeed conspiring with them, then he is not merely the kind of selfish collector who trawls the markets of Anthiope for illegally excavated antiquities, but a good deal less trustworthy than that.” (And this was Simeon saying it. He isn’t usually the type to attach “merely” to that particular judgment of character.)
I said, “On the other hand?”
He gazed into the middle distance, eyes unfocused. “On the other hand, he came to me last week—I’ve been meaning to write to you, only I’ve been busy arguing with Arnoldson over the rearrangement for next autumn. Did I tell you? The museum will be shifting the Draconean antiquities into Estwin Hall, to accommodate the crowds they expect as we get closer to the congress. Which has put Arnoldson’s nose right out of joint, because—”
“Simeon,” I said. “Lord Gleinleigh?”
He blinked. “Oh, yes. I am sorry; of course you don’t care about internal museum politics. The earl came by to thank me for recommending you to his attention—says you’re doing splendidly, and at a terrific clip—and to tell me that he spoke with Pinfell about offering the tablets to the Tomphries as a permanent loan when you’re done.”
I nearly fell off the bench. “What?”
“That is precisely what I said! He was rather vague about the specifics, but he said that he expected what you publish to be of great enough interest that people should have the opportunity to see the source—which is a leopard changing his spots if I ever saw one.” Simeon leaned closer, conspiratorially. “And then he said, as artfully as if he had only just remembered, that weren’t we going to be moving the Draconean antiquities to a bigger hall? In which case, perhaps we might honour his humble donation with a display case or two.”
“He is greedy for fame,” I muttered. (So am I, you might say—but at least I want to be famous for my intellectual achievements, not for having pots of money and lucking into a tremendous find.)