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So dense they were, she st the flocks if not for the sound of his fingers diligently folding another He straightened up frolower over his bare, brown back
‘That wasn’t precisely easy to fold, you know,’ he said
She started, suddenly realising she still held the wrinkled paper crane in her hand Doing her best to carefully readjust the tiny creature, she couldn’t help but notice the unnatural smoothness to the parchment Paper was supposed to have wrinkles, she knew, tiny little edges of roughness That paper had character, eager to receive the poet’s brush
This paper … see it
‘None of these could have been easy to fold,’ Anacha said, placing the crane down carefully and pulling her hand aith a fearful swiftness that she suspectedhave you been up?’
‘Hours,’ Bralston replied
She peered over his pate to the black sky beyond, just now beginning to turn blue
‘It’s not yet dawn,’ she said ‘You always get fussy if you don’t sleep enough’
‘Anacha,’ he sighed, his shoulders sinking ‘I am a hunter of heretic wizards I enforce the law of Venarie through fire and frost, lightning and force I do not get fussy’
He s little attention to the fact that she did not return the expression She was incapable of sht she had met him
‘This is a lovely poem,’ he had said, as she lay on the bed before him ‘Do you like poetry?’
She had answered with a stiff nod, an obedient nod scrubbed and scolded into her He had smiled
‘What’s your favourite?’
When she had no reply, he had laughed She had felt the urge to smile, if only for the fact that it was as well-known that wizards didn’t laugh as it was that they drank pulverised excree contained within
‘Then I will bring you poetry I a her confused stare, he rolled his shoulders ‘My duty demands that I visit Muraska for a time Do you knohere it is?’ She shook her head; he s you a book from it Would you like that?’
She nodded He so, the sigil upon his back shrinking as he slipped out the door Only when it was small as her thuone then, however, the door closing behind hirew as faint then as it was now
‘This is … for work, then?’ she asked, the hesitation in her voice only indicative that she knew the answer
‘This is for my duty, yes,’ he corrected as he set aside another paper crane and plucked up another bone-white sheet ‘Librarian helpers, I call them My helpful little flocks’
She plucked up the crane beside her delicately in her hand, stared into its irritated little eyes The dye was thick, didn’t settle on the page as proper ink should It was only when the scent of copper filled her mouth that she realised that this paper wasn’t asped, ‘your blood?’
‘Some of it, yes’ He held up a tiny little vial with an ie pile ‘I ran out after the four hundredth one Fortunately, I’ve been granted special privileges for this particular duty, up to and including the requisition of a few spare pints’
Anacha had long ago learned that wizards did laugh and that they rarely did anything relatively offensive to brains fro their particular talents Their attitude towards other bodily parts and fluids, however, was not so
She had little ti
‘Why do you need so many?’
At this, he paused, as he had when she had discovered wizards could lie
‘What is your duty?’ she had asked, their sixth night together after five nights of reading
‘I’le and raised a brow ‘What?’
‘I thought you were a wizard’
‘I am’
‘A member of the Venarium’
‘I am’
‘Librarians stock shelves and adjust spectacles’
‘Have you learned nothing of the books I’ve brought you? Words can have s’
‘Books only o to Muraska and afford whores?’
‘Well, no one can afford whores in Muraska’
‘Why did you go to Muraska, then?’
‘Duty called’
‘What kind of duty?’
‘Difficult duties Ones that demand the talents of a man like myself’
‘Talents?’
‘Talents’
‘Fire and lightning talents? Turning people to frogs and burning down houses talents?’
‘We don’t turn people into frogs, no The other talents, though … I use them sometimes In this particular case, so his secrets, his services He violated the laws’
‘What did you do to him?’
‘My duty’
‘Did you kill him?’
He had paused then, too
‘No,’ he had lied then, ‘I didn’t’
‘No reason,’ he lied now
‘I’m not an idiot, Bralston,’ she said
‘I know,’ he replied ‘You read books’
‘Don’t insult me’ She held up a hand, winced ‘Please … you never insult hed, her head sinking low ‘You’re bleeding yourself dry, creating thousands of these little birds …’ She crawled across the bed, staring at his back intently ‘Why?’