Back at the temple Keenley had felt as though he should be overwhelmed by the immense gravity of his situation, but now, walking through town in the sunshine, surrounded by the familiar smells of the market, he felt as though he had left that weight behind. Keenley wondered whether there would be some kind of punishment for what he’d done. He didn’t know what the consequences might be. In fact, he wasn’t even entirely sure what he had done wrong. Father Ginnsley had been elusive when Keenley had tried to ask him about what was going to happen.

He ran his conversation with the Great God through his mind again and again to consider what else he could have said to avoid this outcome. Having found no alternatives, he tried to recall if he had read any historical account of something similar happening. He couldn’t think of any.

That there was no precedent for dealing with this situation might work in his favour. Maybe there wouldn’t be a punishment for something that hadn’t been officially declared a crime. The thought was comforting for a short time, until he considered how fond the Council of Inquisitors were of applying the death penalty to most crimes against the Great God. Keenley’s thoughts were interrupted by an unusual hush that spread across the nearby crowd. The usually bustling market street had slowed such that it was getting difficult to  continue forward, and the normal sound of people negotiating prices had dropped to almost nothing. A single voice came, speaking loudly and slowly as if everyone around were both largely deaf and entirely stupid.

“I’m looking for priests.”  

Keenley glanced around the street to see where the voice was coming from. 

“I need someone to take me to the Great God’s throne room.”

Keenley followed the bemused gaze of the various folks around him to the source of the disturbance. A gap had opened in the crowded street where the market goers had stopped to gawk at the odd-looking speaker: a strange looking creature, like a human-shaped dog, barefoot and wearing a fur loincloth like a tribesman from some remote village. It carried a leather satchel that certainly didn’t belong to the kind of person who usually wore an animal fur loincloth. The creature was being pointed in their direction by a merchant who presumably recognised his learner’s robe.

Father Ginnsley moved quickly to meet the creature and take him aside. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “You shouldn’t be here! This isn’t right.”  Keenley wasn’t sure if the tone was anger, surprise or frustration.

“What? What do you mean? I’m just looking for priests. There’s a great big temple over that way. You’re a priest, right?” the dog-creature asked.

“Yes. Wait, you don’t know me?” Ginnsley asked.

“Why would I know you, are you famous or something? Anyway, you can’t tell me where I’m supposed to be. If you can’t help me just get out of my way.” The creature moved as if to push Ginnsley aside.

Ginnsley blinked and shifted his weight to block the creature’s exit. “No, I’m sorry. What I meant to say was that I’m sure your business is very important and that you’d rather not have all these other people prying into it. My name’s Ginnsley, and I can help you.”

“You know how to get to the Great God’s throne room?”

“I think...” He paused with raised eyebrows to indicate that the creature should insert its own name into the sentence. It didn’t, so he continued. “...friend... that this is not the best place to discuss this issue, as we are drawing a lot of undue attention. As it happens, I know we can be a great deal of help to you, but you must come with us right away.” At that, Father Ginnsley turned and continued  on his way and Keenley had to hurry to keep up. The creature blinked dumbly for a moment and then hurried after them.

* * *

Father Harrington stood before the nonfunctional prayer glass in the top room of the Library Tower. He spoke the words of invocation. Nothing happened. He ran Keenley’s story through his mind, word for word, looking for some alternative explanation as to why the Great God was not speaking through the prayer glasses as he usually did. That Keenley might have been telling the truth was simply inconceivable. The boy had clearly done something wrong and had broken the spell that made the glass work. What was worse was that the prayer glass he kept hidden in his office was now also not working.

He cursed himself for not having paid more attention to it at the time. He had been sure that the boy was simply making up stories to keep himself out of trouble. Now it seemed that there must be something more sinister going on, something that would explain why Ginnsley had left in such a hurry.

He stroked his moustache for a few moments while he considered all the possible configurations a conspiracy might take that would fit the facts of which he had now become aware. There was still insufficient information.

The aged librarian stood sheepishly aside, waiting for some word from Harrington as to what should happen next.

“I shall look into this immediately,” Harrington announced to the room in general. “Inform the other staff that I shall be entirely occupied until further notice. Official Inquisitorial Business. Until I return, my classes may be taken by whichever teacher is not busy. My lesson plans are quite thorough.” He swept out of the room without giving opportunity for response.

The librarian glanced around wondering to whom the instructions had been given, finding no one, she shuffled away to look for someone who would know what to do with the information.

Once he was safely in his office with the door closed, Harrington took out his crimson Inquisitor’s cloak from its glass display case and put it on, neatly fastening the official platinum clasp at the right hand side of his chest. Next he went to the bookshelf at the far side of the room and collected three large ring-bound codices from their place on the top shelf, stacking them face down on his desk. He spoke the password to invisibly transform them into a magically sealed strongbox disguised as a stack of very old books.

He traced a complex pattern with the tip of his index finger on what was previously the back cover of the topmost book. He was meticulous: the locking mechanism would give no sign that it had been disengaged. If he tried to open the box without following the correct procedure, the ward spell would stop his heart with a flash of green lightning.

He opened the box and took a bejewelled metallic sorcerer’s staff that was nearly two metres too long to fit in the apparent space. Its head was fashioned into two clawed hands, grasping an oddly shaped crystal. He retrieved a grey leather satchel which contained a number of his other prized possessions and then re-sealed his box, placing the books back where they had been before.

In the satchel he found the first thing he needed: a piece of silk fabric with a stylised ink painting of some dark brown eyes. He held it up to his own eyes and spoke the words of an activation spell. Immediately his vision shifted to a view of the market outside the temple walls, near where the main road left Amin Thiering and headed out into the plains beyond. He watched a scene in the market where a primitive dog-like creature was talking with Father Ginnsley, saying something about contacting the Great God. There was no sound, and it was hard to read the lips of someone with such an oddly shaped mouth. He wished he had had the time to include sound or record and replay functions into this spell when he had cast it years ago, but for the moment he was forced to make do with silent images. He continued watching very closely.

Next Chapter: vi 0000110-06