The Book-Seller (Gossamer)

[Hadrian]

Hadrian paused whenever he came to a place that was brighter than the rest and attempted to map out where he had walked, but it was likely the crappiest map in existence for he was no cartographer, nor spelunker either. But the clues, he hoped, would help him, at least, when he tried to find his way through again. For even if he couldn't find the Sea Cave of Victor Zekvan. If there was no evidence of that laboratory, he would just alert his professors in the anthropology department of the cave's existence, let them and the archaeology experts explore with their specialist knowledge and skills. He might very well graduate with honors from that department with such a find!

He had to wonder, though, if this were all merely coincidence: meeting Narivan at just the right time, a man who had a book with all necessary information, but no drive to explore himself?

"I hope this isn't a trap," he murmured to himself, but then he couldn't think why someone would want to trap him unless they hated wizards and wizardry or wanted to use him for a blood sacrifice. He sighed, wondering why his imagination always had to supply such ideas and imagery.

His amateur cartography complete for the time being, he continued on along the wagon tracks, catching the occasional flare of a rodent in his Auristic vision, though he was attempting to keep his djed use to a minimum as there was no telling how long this would take. Following a small stream, he found a bunch of flotsam or something that looked vaguely promising, but gave it only cursory examination before returning to the more clear cut wagon ruts. If he didn't find anything deeper down, he would return, he told himself. After all, the workshop was supposed to be close to the surface, but there might be more clues deeper down, and the book didn't say where the hoist was in relation to the Sea Cave, only that it had been designed in the Sea Cave by the magecrafter in question. Though, the hoist would have to be on the river, or on a dry riverbed if the course had changed since then.

Marking the flotsam that might hide a door upon his little map, he retraced his steps and followed the ruts into what must have been the settlement of Zeltivans seeking refuge from the wild magic above ground. This too was added to his imperfect map, along with notes. He copied out the script: population numbers, the name of the place, and took notes on what sort of organization they seemed to have. There was evidence that horses had lived down there with them, but so far no clues as to the whereabouts of the Sea Cave. At least, it wasn't marked by a sign.

Torn between elation and disappointment, he returned the way he had come again, checking many indentations to no avail before he came back to the indentation full of flotsam, which he began to clear away in order to explore further. After all, it was the only indentation that really stood out from the other.

"Is that a door?" he asked himself, and walked through.

[Gossamer]

Having successfully cleared the flotsam, Hadrian did indeed find a door... or what was left of one. Shattered, blackened marks still etched the walls where an explosion had happened, most likely sometime long before the flotsam had been deposited there by high water events. There was evidence of the char marks having been worn by the scrubbing action of water, sand and the wood that had initially blocked his way. Hadrian found it remarkably easy to drag the driftwood out of its collective built-up pile and throw it into the river where it was swept away. Some pieces were bigger than others, but most were still manageable enough. The young scholar would indeed break out in sweat before the task was done as he slowly uncovered the shattered wooden door, splintered and exposing the room behind it. His torch lit the way, though he'd find older torches - burnt to nearly unrecognizable stubs - flanking either side of the ruined doorway in brass holders that to showed sign of intense heat. The chamber beyond, in his torchlight, showed complete and utter ruin. It looked like a library of sorts - no a complete living quarters - with remnants of an enormous bed, hearth, and even a place to prepare food. One wall, near the hearth, was filled with what used to be a bookshelf covered in books that were mostly crumbled to ash in what must have been an intense fire. The hearth was relatively unscathed, having been cut from the stone of the walls and built to withstand fire due to its nature. All else was in ruin. As Hadrian walked around, he could see that vandals had been there. There was a graffiti of sorts on the walls, and markings on the floor and burnt charred remains of furniture that had once made this chamber completely and utterly cozy. Gone. Now, all of it was gone. The intensity of the blaze spoke of deliberate destruction, not of accidental spark. Anything that was there, however, had been looted long ago. The stale air told Hadrian the fireplace was not drafting any longer either... so the only fresh air was coming from the doorway he'd cleared. One thing stood out as well. This suite, for it could not truthfully be called a 'room' did not resemble a laboratory. Instead, it was a living quarters of someone important, someone who liked his own comfort, but it was definitely not posh (or wasn't even at the height of its glory) enough for a leader or councilmen. It was, indeed, perfect for a mage.

[Hadrian]

Hadrian examined the broken doorway as he passed through it, the burn marks and destruction. It was repetitive work clearing away the debris, but he let the river deal with it as he returned to explore the new room. Trying not to let disappointment seep into him prematurely, he noted what seemed to be a blast pattern and he dared not even touch the remains of the books, sure that they would fall apart at his touch, but perhaps someone at the University could take the meaning out of them without touching them. Books were, in the end, so fragile. So were people, too, though it was said that all memories were housed in the chavena.

He kept circling the place, looking for clues, part of him still intrigued if only for anthropological and archaeological purposes, but in the end this looked like it might be the place, a mage's quarters, whose books might have been invaluable to a seeker like him. It had probably been a comfortable place to live, safe and secure from the terrors of the surface. He imagined himself an apprentice here, learning from a true master. He imagined himself the master of this chamber, all his powers and wisdom pitted against the well nigh insurmountable obstacles to survival. He imagined the one who lived here felt a sense of purpose.

Finding nothing, he kept looking. There had to be new ways to look. If it had been looted and vandalized, there might yet be some hint, some clue that the robbers hadn't destroyed outright. He half crawled into the hearth to look up the flue, wondering if there might be something valuable blocking it, recalling as he did so a servant who had told him about a loose brick in one of the hearths that could readily hide some small treasure. But this was the home of a long dead magus, not some little boy with a head full of stories.

Hadrian found himself lying with head in the fireplace. There was some irony there, he thought, but could not put his finger on it. Instead he slammed the back of his head into the ground in frustration, surprised and dismayed to find tears of frustration pricking at his eyes. He lay there in a filthy cement of sweat, soot, dirt, and dust, ashes, and whatever else was down in the sea cave.

"Gods damn it," he muttered, alone and defeated.

[Gossamer]

Hadrian's explorations, more like careful ministrations, did not go unnoticed. It had been a long time since the living quarters of the dead magecrafter and boat builder had been occupied let alone purposely invaded more for the knowledge it held rather than for any valuables it might have contained that could be sold for food or profit. Looters had long since tried to take anything valuable. The first of them were dead looters too, for the traps they'd sprung served as an instrument of the man's revenge for guests of the uninvited kind. The fire that had resulted had served as a warning to future looters who had purposely piled up debris in front of the door in the guise of flotsam to keep trespassers out. Who knew what the old man had left? No one wanted any more deaths however. Hadrian, in his agony of discovery lay stretched out in the hearth. The hearth was actually big enough for a man to walk into stooped, but not large enough to stand upright. Banging his head against the stone resulted in a clang of muffled metal on stone that drew his attention to an item hanging up well into the flue of the hearth. A key gleamed on a ring, large and bronze, it was etched in glyphs and looked oversized with a tang that was neither fanciful or decorated, but instead made of the same stone as the hearth. It would be near invisible to any looking for treasure save that he lay at an angle that made it perfectly visible. Looking around, Hadrian would find a keyhole in the back of the hearth that would fit the key perfectly if he chose to open it.

[Hadrian]

When Hadrian's eyes opened again and focused on the thing hanging above him up the flue, he had to blink several times to register it properly. How could any self-respecting grave robber not look up the chimney? But the blast of fires long gone probably made all those who came after wary of the hearth, all save filthy, questing Hadrian himself. He stilled his sudden urge to reach out and touch it, instead focusing his mind and breath until he could peer at it with his senses augmented.

He was no great Aurist, but if he could spot no threat, he would reach out to it, turn it over in his hands if he could get it loose, and put it in the keyhole, ready to see what else might lay in wait for him.

"Eyris bless," he whispered to himself.

[Gossamer]

The door didn't swing open like the traditional doorway would. Instead it sprang upwards, as if a pulley and chain system operated it. The mechanism, while fascination, was dwarfed in comparison to the chamber beyond. Watchers, in the main chamber who'd noticed his arrival, smiled to themselves. A massive cavern stretched out beyond the hearth which ended up being a rather two sided thing for Hadrian walked out of a hearth on the far side as well. Water lapped at an artificial shoreline and a half-rotten boat was tied up to a dock that looked to lead off into the distance down a blackened tunnel that very well could be a branch of the river that was visible which Hadrian had followed in. Another ship, this one in far better shape, was dry docked on the what could only be considered a working shipwright area of the cavern. It looked almost brand new with its hull gleaming and most of its carcass covered with canvas. Forty foot at least the ship was large but in no way took up the entirety of the cavern. A hoist attached to what appeared to a complex series of come-alongs acted to open what appeared to be 'sea gates' which fed the little bay the boat sat in dry dock in, allowing it to float up once sea water was pumped out. Lumber was lined up on the wall in big racks, precut, along with sail cloth and numerous tools that lined work benches well outside the dry dock area but in a place that looked like it could be large enough to craft boats in. On the opposite side of the room was a raised dais that held a pedestal. Various components on stands encircled the pedestal, looking like looking glasses and magnification devices. There was a larger table beside it holding tools that looked to be hammers and tongs of all sorts with storage underneath the table in the form of cabinets for more. A desk lined a far wall, looking for all the world as if the magecrafter had just left it. Books lined the top of the desk, while an open journal lay on its surface next to a dried pot of ink and a cup filled with quills that looked to be mostly rotted away. A fine layer of dust lined everything and the air had a stale smell to it despite the water lapping gently against what could only be termed the stone jetty - mortared in place - that kept the workshop dry. It was a lovely place. A fortress. Perfect for a recluse. Only... Hadrian wasn't alone. There were small footsteps in the dust that had stirred it up. Tiny little feet had wandered here and there, in such a way that signified long term activity and interest. And it was undoubtably the footsteps that belonged to the voice that raised itself in joy and cried.. "Master! Have you returned?!" As soon as the stone doorway slid upwards. A thundering of little feet could be heard as a pycon rushed into view, skidded to a halt, then drew a dagger from its belt when it saw Hadrian wasn't exactly who it had expected. "You're not the Master!" The little creature exclaimed. It was two feet tall at the most and took on the guise of what could only be described as a common everyday ordinary garden art, including pointy hat and shaggy clay beard.

[Hadrian]

There was quite a lot to take in, and all of it seemed too good to be true, which usually meant it was. Ducking through the door in the hearth was like walking through the proverbial looking-glass, only to find a curiouser world on the other side, but a land full of wonders. Ships in dry dock, the hoist, sea gates. Jackpot! Construction supplies, the makings of a laboratory... sweet Eyris! He wondered if she had sent Narivan to him with a story and a book. On the one hand, he daren't hope for such favor. On the other, how could this not be the hand of a goddess?

He blessed Narivan too as he walked up to the desk with the open journal. The means of writing seemed to have decayed with age, the fine sheen of dust proof that this place, at least, was untouched by looters or any of his contemporaries. Even Zephyrus must not know about it! He was about to blow away the dust, not wanting to touch anything yet. The oils in a man's hands could damage paper, even vellum. Archival quality stuff prevented the natural acids from breaking things down. A wizard wanted his thoughts immortalized, though. His first attempt to read was balked by the pitter patter of little feet, but this was no child. No, a Pycon? Curiouser and curioser.

He gasped when the door opened of its own accord, then blinked at the sight of the Pycon, its drawn dagger winking darkly in the ruddy light of his torch. He held it up, his other hand open and high were it could easily be seen.

"I'm not your Master," he admitted reasonably, "but I followed his trail. There's a book in my satchel. May I show it to you? I mean you no harm."

[Gossamer]

The pycon looked dubious. "What does a book matter? I'm waiting for Vic! Something's happened to him though. He's been gone a really long time" The pycon spun then and Hadrian could see it wore bracelets and anklets that while made of clay were hardened by a forge and etched with glowing runes that could very well be glyphs though they tended to look more magecraftish in origin. They almost matched the glyphs etched in the floor around the pedestal on the dais - ones he could only really see after stepping into the room. "You followed a trail? Why? Do you want something from Vic? From me? I'm Nugget. I've been here a long time. Victor told me to wait for him to come back and I have, faithfully. It just seems weird. I haven't gotten any older and even though sometimes people come and talk to me, I know its been a lot longer than thirty years since Victor has been gone. Do you know what the date is? You seem to be the first normal person whose come. Most of the others just show up, demand things, and leave. Harameus sometimes stays to visit or the nice lady who likes Victors book collection, but they don't stay very long and they've never told me the date. Har says time passes slowly for me since my bracelets and anklets are gifts from Tanroa who owed Vic a favor." The pycon said advancing on Hadrian.

[Hadrian]

To show he meant no harm, Hadrian knelt down by the desk to await the Pycon's approach. All those questions and all those comments sent his head spinning, but while he was quiet, he was putting together his answers. Part of him wondered if he should tell the Pycon the date, whether that might drive him over the edge. Magical constructs were not as stable as humans, or so he had read, but someone like Victor Zekvan would have had stable constructs, he imagined.

"I'm Hadrian," he said politely. "It has been a lot longer than thirty years, I think, although someone like your master might have learned how to survive beyond his allotted years, especially if Tanroa owes him favors." He paused. "I suppose I came looking for him, or for whatever he left behind. I'm a student of magic and he, well, he's a master.

"You say Harameus comes to visit, Nugget? And another lady?" He wondered if the god of alchemy truly visited this lonely Pycon and, if so, whether the book loving lady might not be Qalaya or Eyris. "Did your master leave you a way to call for him if you needed him?" That might not be a door he wanted to open, but if Victor Zekvan were truly dead and gone, leaving not even a shade to bemoan his lost life, then Hadrian might, with the help of Nugget, learn a great deal from this place.

[Gossamer]

"I haven't seen anyone in a long long time. I used to keep track but the lines I scratched into the clay at the far side of the harbor has long worn away. Now I just clean, keep things neat, and when books start to crumble I recopy them. The lovely lady brings me fresh books when I run out - blank ones - that I can write in. But I haven't even seen her for a long while. I'm very glad to see you. If you are a student, then you've come the right place. There's a lot to learn here. Vic had a big library, just in the other room, though he didn't keep his best books there. He kept the best books here. They are the ones i am mindful of." The little pycon said, then circled around Hadrian watching him curiously. "No, I don't think Vic will be back. Tanroa owes him no more favors once she gifted him with these. He found something of hers once and returned it. He found something of the Lady's too but I've forgotten where he put it. It used to be his favorite. He wore it every day, even in his sleep... around his neck. It was a glass, you see... a looking glass that made small things large and with no silver so you could see all the way through it. I miss seeing it, because sometimes I would use it to read things I had no knowledge of the language for. He'd let me borrow it you see, if I kept it safe." The Pycon said, looking thoughtful. "You don't know what happened to Vic do you? He used to spend all his time here, even lived on the ship. The outside room... out there... was just to deter thieves and students he had no interest in teaching. I wasn't allowed on the ship. Never have gone on it. Must be very dirty by now, but those were his wishes. And yes, he did leave me something.. a bell. It's on his desk over there. You ring it and it summons him. It's magical. I finally broke its handle, I rang it so much. He never returned." The Pycon said in a soft sad voice, pointing to a bell that was now handle-less and looking worn on a desk that was near the shipwrighting work area. "Before he left one day... just disappeared... never got up from sleeping... he told me he was tired. Tired of it all. I never get tired... not really. But humans are different." Nugget said. "I hope he had peace in the end. My Master rarely did. He deserved it. All that service... to everyone. Zeltiva thrives because of him." The Pycon said, gesturing back towards the underground. It was as if he still thought everyone lived inside.