Through the Darkness

They might have gone on with the philosophical discussion, but the cab stopped then. The hackman said, “We’re here, folks. That’ll be three in silver.”

Hearing plain, ordinary Kuusaman startled Pekka. She paid the driver, collected a receipt so she’d be reimbursed, and helped Fernao out of the cab. He stared at the cottage in which Siuntio lived, at the ivy that was all but naked because of the fall chill, at the yellowing grass in front of the home. “The greatest theoretical sorcerer of the day deserves better,” he said.

“I thought the same the first time I came here,” Pekka answered. “I thought he deserved a palace grander than the Prince of Yliharma’s. But this place suits him, not least because it has room enough for all his books. As long as they are where he can get at them when he needs one or wants one in particular, he cares little about anything else.” Pekka understood that feeling; she had a large measure of it herself.

Fernao said, “I wish I could be that way. But I am too much a part of the world not to wish I had more of what it can give along with more books and more time to read them.” He smiled that dry smile once more. “What I want is more of everything, I suppose.”

Before Pekka could answer, the front door opened. Siuntio waved to Fernao and her. “Come in, come in. Welcome, welcome. Very glad you could drop by this morning,” he said, once more making classical Kaunian sound more like a living language than one maintained by scholars. “You had better hurry up. Ilmarinen got here half an hour ago, and I cannot promise how long the brandy will hold out.”

He smiled as he spoke, but Pekka wondered if he were joking. Ilmarinen liked his drink, no doubt about it. Like Fernao, he didn’t pull back from life. On the contrary--he grabbed with both hands. Pekka supposed she ought to count herself lucky that he hadn’t tried to grab her with both hands.

Fernao made his slow way toward the door. Pekka walked alongside him, ready to help if he stumbled. He didn’t; he’d had a good deal of practice on his crutches by now. Siuntio said, “Good to see the two of you, both for the work we can do together and”--he lowered his voice--”because the three of us together may have some chance of keeping Ilmarinen under control.” He stepped aside to let Pekka and Fernao move past him and into the house.

Fernao got to the end of the foyer and stopped. Pekka was behind him in the narrow entry hall, so she had to stop, too. He muttered something in Lagoan that she didn’t understand, then caught himself and went back to classical Kaunian: “Master Siuntio, you had better search me when I leave. Otherwise, I am liable to steal as much of your library as I can carry.”

Pekka giggled. “I said the same thing the first time I came here. I suspect every mage who comes here for the first time says the same thing.”

Ilmarinen walked in from the kitchen. Sure enough, he had a glass of brandy in his hand--and a raffish grin on his face. “Not me,” he said. “I kept quiet--and walked out with whatever I happened to need.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” Siuntio said, which made all the mages laugh. Siuntio went on, “When I no longer have any use for these books, they will go to someone who can profit from them. Till then, I intend to hold on to them. On to all of them.” He gave Ilmarinen a severe look. Ilmarinen’s answering gaze was as serene as if he’d never named himself a thief.

“Shall we get to work?” Pekka said. “Who knows what they are doing right this minute in Algarve?”

“Murdering people.” Ilmarinen took a good-sized swig of brandy. “Same as they’re doing in Unkerlant. And do you know what’s worst?” He finished the brandy while the other sorcerers shook their heads. “What’s worst is, we don’t always wake up screaming any more when they do it. We’re getting used to it, and if that isn’t a judgment on us, curse me if I know what it is.” He stared from one mage to the next, daring them to disagree with him.

“I had not thought of it so,” Pekka said slowly, “but you may well be right. When something dreadful happens for the first time, it is a horror that lives in the memory forever. When it happens again and again, the mind grows numb. The mind has to, I think; if it did not grow numb, it would go mad.”

“We’re all mad.” Ilmarinen’s voice remained harsh.

“Mistress Pekka is right: we need to work,” Siuntio said. “If you will come with me to my study...”

The hallways were lined with books, too. Pekka asked, “Master, how hard was it to pick up everything after the Algarvians attacked Yliharma?”

“It was quite difficult and painful, my dear,” Siuntio answered. “Many volumes were damaged, and some destroyed outright. A very sad time.”