In Shade and Shadow

"Another error," Master a'Seatt returned flatly.

"What?!" Teagan squeaked, and quickly hobbled over.

Pawl a'Seatt never looked up. He scanned page after page in a stack freshly transcribed by his staff.

"Not in the scripting," a'Seatt replied, "in the translation."

Teagan grumbled under his breath. "Enough already. You think you know more than sages?"

"An error nonetheless," a'Seatt answered.

Elias watched the shop owner dip a quill precisely in a stout ink bottle. As he scrawled something on a spare parchment sheet, the right door beyond the counter cracked open, and a small head peeked out.

"Ah, no," Elias muttered.

Imaret was barely tall enough to peer around Master a'Seatt's back and over the counter. Her kinky brown-black hair was tied back, but too many errant strands bounced around her caroutround hamel-tinted face. And her eyes lit up at the sight of Jeremy.

Elias scowled, but Imaret didn't notice.

Why did grim Master a'Seatt have a thirteen-year-old girl working in his scriptorium?

Imaret was known on the guild grounds and had suffered more than once as she tailed Jeremy about. Instead of attending one of the four public schools run by the guild, someone, somehow, had paid for her more intense tutelage. Certainly not her father, who was only a retired sergeant of the regulars.

"Hello, Imaret," Jeremy said politely.

Elias rolled his eyes, but again no one noticed.

Imaret dropped her gaze bashfully, opening her small mouth to speak.

"You have finished cleaning up?" Pawl a'Seatt asked, not looking up from the pages.

Imaret raised her eyes, her mouth still open.

"It's late, girl," Teagan added. "And I don't need another sharp word from your parents."

Imaret's pout turned to a vinegar scowl, and she backed through the door with a last lovesick glance at Jeremy.

Pawl a'Seatt finished another notation. When he set down the quill, Teagan snatched up the sheet of notes.

"Seven?" the old scribe moaned. "Seven corrections to the translations? I can barely read half the sages' symbols in what we transcribe, let alone know what they mean. Our task is to provide clean copies for their master codex—not to correct their work. How would you know what's an error or not?"

Elias wondered how, indeed. Translating scattered passages from Wynn Hygeorht's texts had been a slow and tedious process, from what he'd heard. Whatever pieces could be completed with certainty were recorded in the sages' Begaine syllabary. Occasionally this might include certain untranslated words or phrases carefully rendered in the original symbols and languages.

Neither Elias nor Jeremy had actually seen the contents of any folios sent out to select scriptoriums. The whole project was hushed and secret, and only guild masters and domins were directly involved. Yet Master a'Seatt, mere owner of a private scriptorium, had the presumption to correct work he knew nothing about.

"That is all," Pawl a'Seatt said, and he lifted a more worn collection of sheets from under the counter. "Now for your corroborating count."

Teagan paged quickly through the first crisp stack. "All of our work is present."

"And the guild's note sheets?" Pawl asked.

Teagan reviewed the second stack more slowly, its sheets wrinkled and creased by repeated handling. He accounted each against the inclusions list sent with the folio.

"All present," he confirmed.

The old master scribe began wrapping both stacks in a larger sheet of russet paper, but he stopped as Pawl a'Seatt held out his corrections list. Teagan blew an exasperated snort, but he took the sheet and placed it upon the stacks before wrapping them all.

Master a'Seatt brought out a blue wax stick and the shop's heavy pewter stamp, and he sealed the package closed. He then slipped it into the same leather folio in which the sages' work had been delivered that morning.

"Finally," Jeremy whispered.

Elias was no less eager to be on their way. Elvina was waiting.

Pawl a'Seatt held out the folio, and his brilliant eyes settled coldly on Elias. But as Elias took hold with both hands, Master a'Seatt didn't let go.

"You will return immediately to confirm delivery."

Elias slumped in dismay as Jeremy groaned.

They were going to be very late to the Bang-Tankard inn. For an instant he thought to argue, but a'Seatt's hard gaze made him quickly reconsider. He nodded again.

"Come on," he grumbled, and pushed past Jeremy for the door. "We'll have to hurry."

He was already trotting the wet cobblestones by the time he heard Jeremy close the shop door.

"Wait up," Jeremy called.

Elias had no more patience. When he came to the first side street, he skidded to a stop. Only then did Jeremy catch up. Elias could barely make out the crossing alleyway at the side street's end.

"No, you don't," Jeremy warned.

"It'll be faster," Elias countered. "We can cut through to Galloway Street, then the main alley behind the northwest market, and out to Switchin Way."

"No!" Jeremy snapped. "We're supposed to stick to the main streets, where it's well lit."