Quill met Noue at The Golden Spoil that Sunday. She was dressed in her fine branded coat, the ash having passed, and he asked her why she came with him to Wholist services when she was a Witness, winging his arm as he asked. She chuckled and wrapped her arm around his and replied that if it was important to him to be seen there, it was important for her to be seen there with him. He smiled warmly at the sentiment, and then felt a twinge of guilt. There was something he wasn’t telling her. Okay, so there were a lot of things he wasn’t telling her, but he was a habitually reserved person. He could feel the pointed edges of something poking his brain, that pertained to his future with her. But for the life of him, he couldn’t tell what it was aside from the discomfort of it, so he resolved to put it out of his mind. He uttered a minor witticism, something to the effect of Burner’s being “tiresome, boorish, and not even affording the entertainment of meriting interesting insults of his character.” He wished he were so witty when face to face with the man, but something about him made Quill passive and quiet. Once again, a nagging thought that he could somehow say to Burner’s face all the things he had thought about him.
The opening hymn was one Quill knew, but he made a point of reading over Noue’s shoulder to avoid her feeling any shame over not knowing the words. As every Sunday, the priest made the sign of the God Star before the altar, and led a round of prayer for the collective sins of the congregation. “Everyone, excepting the Blessed Son and Mother of the One God, have sinned and to think otherwise is to delude and damn yourself!” This was the priest’s closing remark, followed by another hymn.
“Today we call upon the Power of Sael, angel of cleansing, under the Virtue of the Queen, Barachia. It is perhaps fitting that the Queen is fully the Queen of Rest, for we are in prayer that the undead inhabiting the great pre-Loss artifact be put to rest. Found through the Graceful guidance of Tome, a spirit mage has been called in, as those who read the Chronicle will be aware, to quiet their spirits and allow us to put them in proper tombs after time immemorial!” Quill felt a frisson of unease. Spirit mages could do a broad assortment of things, but… alas, fog. “Undead are a fact of life in Barbery, as I’m sure you all know. The mountains resonate with the vast necromantic pulses which emanate from Mount Barber every few days.” Quill knew, personally, that it was every sixty-six hours. He also knew that Mount Barber was a pre-Loss artifact in and of itself, constructed entirely from native gabbro, and that the veins and obelisks of that same stone expanded the area of effect throughout Barbery. The mechanism of the pulses, however, remained a mystery. “We are blessed, in Coldpass, that those who perish are generally frozen through, and thus kept from being a menace to the general populace.” That was one spin to put on allowing innocent people come upon hard times to freeze to death. The undead raised by Mount Barber weren’t even that great a menace, though they could be a vector of disease. Generally, they wandered aimlessly about, only purposeful under the yoke of a spirit mage commanding the animating spirit inside them. “It is unfortunate that so many vengeful spirits remain behind to trouble the living, but we live in a fallen world and many blame others for their misfortunes.” That wasn’t even accurate, to Quill’s knowledge of necromancy, but it wasn’t something he had studied enough to make it a hill he would die upon. But to blame the malintent of the dead for the alleged dangers of the undead, when it took magic to command them into anything resembling orderly action… “So we pray that the spirit mage brought in by Tome will quiet the spirits of the miners,” No worries there, there wasn’t enough left of them to animate. Though the Bone Pickers might be able to assemble a single functional body from the pieces, were they allowed in. “And also that we are able to bury the dead who have haunted the artifact for far too long.” Undead, normally, would gradually decay, but in Barbery the animating spirits were renewed every sixty-six hours. Quill was still deeply uneasy about what could be done with a spirit mage and corpses inhabiting it since before the Age of Loss, but he was at a loss as to what made him so uneasy. Spirit mages… he would need to consult his axiom of lore to know what else a spirit mage could do, and see what made him nervous, after the service.
“We pray, beloved, that great Sael would also cleanse the false faith of Witnesses that do not acknowledge Mother Church.” Noue made that particular wrinkle of her nose. It wasn’t cute, exactly, but very expressive. Quill wondered to himself whether the priest recognized her and was making eye contact, or if it were just a trick of the light like with certain paintings where the eyes seemed to follow you wherever you turned.
Much to Quill’s relief, Noue did not want to socialize after the service, practically pulling him from the narthex before he could do more than wave over his shoulder at Parchment and Glue. Why was it a relief? Again, the feeling of an irritation, a pearl of thought. She brought him down back streets and alleyways to one of the countless small shops, but Quill wondered why when almost everywhere was clo—the restaurant boasted lit lanterns and a well-lit interior. When he questioned a store being open on the sabbath, Noue confided in him that the proprietors were Paxites, and celebrated their sabbath on Saturday. They were shown to a booth, close to the fire in the near-empty establishment. There was not a menu, but rather they were simply presented with a charcuterie board laden with crackers, cheeses, cuts of beef and cooked chicken sausages, and an assortment of olive, nut, and potato sides. This was a new culinary experience to Quill, so he waited to observe what Noue did. It became quickly apparent this was an equivalent experience to his light breakfast of crackers and fish eggs, and he began experimenting with combinations, taking his cues from Noue’s tastes.
“I was hoping,” Noue said, when they had sated themselves and were merely picking at the remaining treats, “to discuss with you your offer of employment.” Quill swallowed wrong and began to cough. Noue looked on with concern and then came around to pat his back. He noticed that he was nearly as tall sitting as she was standing. “Are you alright? I thought we had slowed down enough for conversation to avoid any choking.” Quill nodded and gestured for her to continue. “I’m not convinced that I agree with your methods.” That… was perplexing. “And I’m not sure that I have the temperament to be a librarian, I’ve been an investor and collector so long, although I admit there are similarities.” That was still more perplexing. His consternation must have shown on his face, because Noue sighed. “One God’s sake, Quill, they’re Paxites and it’s Sunday, nobody is about!” She lowered her voice to a hiss, “Unlock your mind. I’ve paid, they won’t be bothering us on such a slow day!” Quill coughed again, his mind calling forth simultaneously a glyph and a key. The key slotted itself into the nagging soreness in his mind even as he had to consciously rotate the glyph. Clearly, while Decontextualized was more skilled than Burner, she was not as subtle as Glue. As he thought those words, he realized what had been nagging at him all morning, and was doubly thankful he had not had an extended conversation with Glue that morning.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“What, Quill? You’re turning veritably green.” Quill asked Noue how she felt about dragons. “Dragons? What do you have locked away in that noggin of yours? I loathe them. They’re avaricious, hateful, manipulative. They amass colossal hoards of wealth over time, when people in their territories starve to death. Or, in the case of Coldpass, freeze.” Quill felt guilt at the fact he still had not approached his superiors about making the library space, at least, a shelter for the homeless as Noue had proposed. “In my time robbing dragons, and from what I’ve read, they’ve insinuated themselves into every position of power there is. They have their talons in the Church, in governments such as Fief… the only place I’ve heard they’ve struggled to tame is Dominion, and there they just work around the people there while continuing their games of intrigue.” Quill could see they played rather extensive games of intrigue. “They empower ordinary people and give them the sense of being superior even as they damn them by their willful and ungodly actions. Just look at Burner. He thinks flowers and a knife is the way to a woman’s heart. Just look at you, following a dragon serving church over one of the more pure Witnessate faiths. There are several in town. The Sevens are wonderfully diverse.”
Quill protested that… he sighed. He’d only gotten as far as the actual protest before realizing he didn’t have a leg to stand on. “So what aren’t you telling me, Quill? You’re making the most awful face.” As a dilatory tactic, Quill asked Noue what branch of the Witnessate faith she would recommend for him. Her expression made it clear she wasn’t going to drop it, but Quill wanted to buy as many moments of introspection as possible before he made what was assuredly an irrevocable choice. Noue pursed her lips thoughtfully and tilted her head to one side. “I mean, you’re identifying as an Incarnate Wholist. An Incarnate Witness is just an Eminate. There’s a small temple and school devoted to their teachings two shops down. I don’t think their services are anything like your Wholist services, though. I haven’t personally attended because I’m not any kind of Incarnate. Why do you ask? I thought you were tied to your Wholist church out of devotion to appearances. We discussed that just earlier this morning.”
Quill took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and asked if she had any interest in attending an Eminate service with him. She looked taken aback, then shrugged. “If you’re abandoning appearances—what happened, Quill? You turned green when you unlocked your glyph, and now you’re asking about dragons and alternative religious services.” He sighed again, and asked if she’d like to meet his moms that Saturday. As for what was the bee in his bonnet, he would tell her, and Glue, and Parchment, the next evening at the Manners Lounge. He could tell this wasn’t satisfactory to her, but to his intense relief she didn’t push.
Remembering his intent to consult his axiom of lore, he changed the subject. Slicing his thumb and watching the motes of light seal the wound, he told Noue about his unease with a spirit mage having access to the corpses of those who might well have operated the pre-Loss artifact Tome was so intent upon unearthing. She began to ask follow-up questions, then saw his thumb and waited patiently while he consulted his spirit. He mumbled the words that came up as he searched and sought the information he wanted. Shadow mages weren’t what he was worried about, although there was plenty to worry about there. “What makes a shadow mage worrisome?” Noue asked.
Quill replied that it was a relatively new sorcery, but that the sphere of shadow magic included imbuing the dead with a semblance of life. It didn’t create undead, or it hadn’t yet, but if Tome could find the pretense to bring a shadow sorcerer then he could directly question the corpses of those who had quite possibly operated the artifact. A spirit mage could interrogate the animating spirits of the zombies inhabiting the artifact, which if Mount Barber was as old as was believed would have substantial observational knowledge of the artifact. He let out a sigh of relief. While Tome could corral the undead using the spirit mage, he would have to go to greater lengths and take still more time to actually learn the workings of—his blood ran cold. The books. The books Noue had stolen. It was entirely possible that Tome already knew how the artifact worked, and what a spirit mage could do, if not unlock the secrets bound up in the corpses’ hearts, would be direct them to follow the patterns of behavior the bodies had had in life. They would be the mindless laborers under the direction of a single individual, much easier to bind to Tome’s will than an entire crew of workers.
“So let me guess. You’re going to kill the spirit mage that Tome is bringing into Coldpass?” Quill shook his head a single turn, before pausing and putting a thoughtful finger to his lip. Then he shrugged. He needed to talk to Parchment and Glue—with her present, he hastened to add. He fished the piece of paper he had kept as a totem, a cheering sentiment, however foolish that was, which said, “fine.” He told Noue that she could join them as an apprentice Historian. “That was what we were going to talk about in the first place, before you came up queer. I don’t agree with all your methods, though I’m relieved to find out your first impulse isn’t to kill the spirit mage. You can’t just murder anyone who might unearth a secret.”
Quill didn’t say, but it was evidently written on his face, that he disagreed. “Quill, if you kill everyone who learns a secret, the killing in and of itself a secret, you will wind up decimating this entire town and losing your hat.” He raised an eyebrow and looked down at his wide-brimmed hat sitting on the table. His hat? Noue waved a dismissive hand. “Something from a penny dreadful. It refers to losing one’s status and dignity, in short.” Quill nodded. “You employed explosives entirely too readily and injured an innocent man destroying the papers in Parchment’s office, and for what? To gain a few days?” Quill blanched at the reference to the secretary, who was decidedly not an innocent in this game of greater good. He had testified that Quill had been the only one to visit Parchment’s office, and that he had carried a small suitcase with him. Noue wouldn’t approve of removing—what a gentle euphemism for wetwork—the man, but fortunately it was a moot point. He had already done the harm he was going to do, short of betraying Parchment herself, and Quill would have to… what were even his options, at this juncture? He asked Noue to wait until the morrow, and in the meantime that they lock away their secrets and enjoy the delicious Paxite charcuterie board.
Still clearly dissatisfied, but unwilling to press, Noue agreed that he would answer all her questions at the Manners Lounge. Quill locked away the fog, but left the key where it was. He wouldn’t be hiding anything from Glue, and not keeping a secret from an old friend, much less ensuring their demise, was a great relief to him. He could act for love and for the greater good in the same movement. Or so he hoped.
