She was about to ask again when two things happened: she realized that asking was pointless since Rattle was unable to communicate through conventional means, and a voice spoke in her head, as if from a distance, “It’s alphabetizing.” She recognized the voice as Petre’s, and went to collect him from the sill.
“What’s it doing?”
“Alphabetizing.” Petre’s expressive eyes shifted into view, as if he’d been looking elsewhere and found the view boring. “It’s putting the books in order by the name of the title. It’s the order the whole library is supposed to be in, but as you saw, there are aberrations in the order that Ol’ Batball needs to fix. It’s dreadfully boring to try to accomplish, but it doesn’t seem to mind too much. Sometimes we make a game of it. Just to pass the time, I’ll name a book and try to time the thing to see how long it takes to find a book. If it takes more than ten seconds, we talk about reorganization. I guess it’s not a game so much as a stress test for the system,” he said as an afterthought. “Anyway, it’s dead useful for trying to find a specific book when you’re looking for it, so long as the title is known to you.”
Skate watched Rattle move some more, and it seemed only to be using the one leg to detect the titles, instead of the eye. “How come it’s not looking as it goes?”
“Because it’s a weird flying bat eyeball.” Petre’s eyes danced with mischief. “How should I know what goes on behind that big eye of its?”
“So you don’t know what Rattle is.”
“No one knows what Rattle is. Barrison made the thing, but even he couldn’t spell out what exactly it is if you asked him. I know what he was trying to do when he made Rattle, and it wasn’t…that.” When Skate said nothing but remained obviously interested, he went on. “At the time, he was trying to create a being of living magic. A very dangerous undertaking, but theoretically possible. I could name dozens of wizards over the centuries who have tried to make this happen—Billion the Dwarf, Moriak the Mad, Perianne Redmane…” Seeing no recognition in Skate’s face, he said, “Well, never mind, but as I said, it’s an undertaking many have tried, but none have succeeded. Barrison caught the urge, and Rattle was the result.”
Rattle continued its trek with the next row of books. It must have been nearly done, since there was only one row of books on the wall after its current circle finished.
Skate said, “It was supposed to be a spell, but it turned into something alive?”
“That was the idea, yes.”
“Why? What’s the use of something like that?”
“Since it’s never been successfully done, there’s no way to know for sure. But the magic theorists suppose that such a being would be formidable in battle, probably able to ignore weapons and armor that were not themselves magical in nature.”
“Rattle was supposed to be a weapon?”
“Yes. Barrison made it during the war. You can imagine the lure of such a weapon, and how useful it would have been to have on the battlefield against scads of heavily armored soldiers. They’d find themselves totally helpless if the theories were right. So, the Iron Wind made the attempt, and when the smoke and lights cleared, Rattle was there, flapping away and looking around. We weren’t sure if Barrison had been successful or not, but it seemed to respond well enough to words, especially if Barrison was the one talking to it. He set it on a training dummy, and while its legs made quick work of the cloth and stuffing, it could not pierce any armor. It wasn’t a living spell, but something else. Barrison didn’t know what else to call it, so Rattle is just Rattle.”
Skate continued to watch the thing floating around the room. It was meant to be a weapon, she thought. It did not surprise her, really. She’d seen it fight. It was odd, though, to think of the thing she’d come to enjoy being around as a failed war experiment.
A few moments of quiet as Rattle finished its last flapping lap brought the question from that morning back to her mind. She knew asking would do no good, so she stated her thoughts as fact instead. “You know what AB is.”
“Yes.” Petre wasn’t looking at her as he spoke, but continued following Rattle’s path.
“It’s something to do with Mr. Belamy, isn’t it? One of his secrets.”
“Yes.”
“Has he told you not to tell me about it?”
“No.”
His short answers were not unexpected, but Skate found herself getting frustrated just the same. Calm down, she told herself; at least he’s talking. “Would he tell me what it means if I asked?”
“You shouldn’t ask.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Skate frowned. “I’m going to ask him.”
“I can’t stop you.” His eyes faded into smoke.
Knowing the conversation to be over, she set Petre down on his perch by the window. Rattle floated back down to eye level and watched her leave. She shut the library door behind her.
She found Belamy where he’d been earlier, staring into the clear glass ball. The golden enhancer was by him, spinning with agitated speed. It was throwing reflections of the firelight around the room like shooting stars. The room was dimmer than it had been, so she tossed a log onto the flame, knowing the magic of the hearth would create more fuel for later as it always had. Once the new wood caught, she stood in front of Belamy’s desk and waited. He ignored her for several minutes, but eventually the golden enhancer began to slow. Belamy leaned back in his chair and stroked his short white beard. He didn’t look tired—presumably, he was no longer capable of being tired—but he looked annoyed.
“How’d your search go?”
“Poorly. Those whom I thought had some connection to the people I’m hunting for either knew nothing, pretended to know nothing, or avoided me entirely. The Lady was not at home when I called on her, and the butler wasn’t lying about that—I checked—so that is a dead end, at least for now. The various hedge wizards were unwilling to discuss the matter no matter how insistent I was or what offers I made of payment.”
“What, did you not offer enough gold?”
“Neither gold nor secrets nor offer of magical service proved of any use toward loosening tongues. It has been quite a frustrating day, I’m afraid. Well, more disappointing than truly frustrating,” Belamy said, coming forward again in his chair and looking into the glass ball. “I’ve got some time to find these people, I hope, and I have not yet exhausted all of my contacts. Perhaps the good Lady Flandel will return from her travels tomorrow; her manservant suggested that was likely, though the weather may interfere.”
“These guys must be pretty scary to keep everybody quiet like that.” Really, the silence was surprising; what honor there was among thieves was generally not shared by their victims. Not talking to the authorities about criminals made sense. Refusing to talk to friends about the Ink didn’t. There was no way to answer the question of why no one was talking, though. She’d need to speak to Haman or Boss Marshall again to try to figure that out.
Belamy shrugged. “Yes, they must be. I know some of these people quite well, and for most of them, this is the first time I’ve ever been stonewalled in a line of questioning. No matter; I’ll find them out eventually. Enough about my work; what about yours?” He pointed to the burlap poking out of the side of her pack. “I take it the book has been delivered?”