The Warded Man

replaced his glasses and cleared his throat uncomfortably. “After the recent breach, the duke fears for his collection,” he said. “His Grace desires … special measures.”
    “What kind of special measures?” Cob asked suspiciously. Ronnell squirmed, and Arlen could tell that he was as uncomfortable making the request as he expected them to be in filling it.
    Finally, Ronnell sighed. “All the tables, benches, and shelves are to be warded against firespit,” he said flatly.
    Cob’s eyes bulged. “That would take months!” he sputtered. “And to what end? Even if a flame demon made it so deep into the city, it could never get past the wards of this building, and if it did, you’d have greater worries than the bookshelves.”
    Ronnell’s eyes hardened at that. “There is no greater worry, Master Cob,” he said. “In that, the duke and I agree. You cannot imagine what we lost when the corelings burned the libraries of old. We guard here the last shreds of knowledge that took millennia to accumulate.”
    “I apologize,” Cob said. “I meant no disrespect.”
    The librarian nodded. “I understand. And you are quite correct, the risk is minimal. Nevertheless, His Grace wants what he wants. I can pay a thousand gold suns.”
    Arlen ticked the math off in his head. A thousand suns was a lot of money, more than they had ever gotten for a single job, but when accounting for the months of work the job would entail, and the loss of regular business …
    “I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Cob said at last. “Too much time away from my business.”
    “This would garner the duke’s favor,” Ronnell added.
    Cob shrugged. “I messengered for his father. That brought me favor enough. I have little need for more. Try a younger Warder,” he suggested. “Someone with something to prove.”
    “His Grace mentioned your name specifically,” Ronnell pressed.
    Cob spread his hands helplessly.
    “I’ll do it,” Arlen blurted. Both men turned to him, surprised that he had been so bold.
    “I don’t think the duke will accept the services of an apprentice,” Ronnell said.
    Arlen shrugged. “No need to tell him,” he said. “My master can plot the wards for the shelves and tables, leaving me to inscribe them.” He looked at Cob as he spoke. “If you had taken the job, I would have carved half the wards anyway, if not more.”
    “An interesting compromise,” Ronnell said thoughtfully.
    “What say you, Master Cob?”
    Cob looked at Arlen suspiciously. “I say this is a tedious job of the sort you hate,” he said. “What’s in it for you, lad?” he asked.
    Arlen smiled. “The duke gets to claim that Wardmaster Cob warded the library,” he began. “You get a thousand suns, and I”—he turned to Ronnell—“get to use the library whenever I wish.”
    Ronnell laughed. “A boy after my own heart!” he said. “Have we a deal?” he asked Cob. Cob smiled, and the men shook hands.
    Tender Ronnell led Cob and Arlen on an inspection of the library. As they went, Arlen began to realize what a colossal task he had just undertaken. Even if he skipped the math and plotted the wards by sight, he was looking at the better part of a year’s work.
    Still, as he turned in place, taking in all the books, he knew it was worth it. Ronnell had promised him full access, day or night, for the rest of his life.
    Noting the look of enthusiasm on the boy’s face, Ronnell smiled. He had a sudden thought, and took Cob aside while Arlen was too occupied with his own thoughts to notice.
    “Is the boy an apprentice or a Servant?” he asked the Warder.
    “He’s Merchant, if that’s what you’re asking,” Cob said.
    Ronnell nodded. “Who are his parents?”
    Cob shook his head. “Hasn’t any; at least not in Miln.”
    “You speak for him, then?” Ronnell asked.
    “I would say the boy speaks for himself,” Cob replied.
    “Is he promised?” the Tender asked.
    There it was. “You’re not the first to ask me that, since my business rose,” Cob said. “Even some of the Royals have sent their pretty daughters to sniff at him. But I don’t think the Creator has made the girl that can pull his nose out of a book long enough to notice her.”
    “I know the feeling,” Ronnell said, gesturing to a young girl who was sitting at one of the many tables with half a dozen open books scattered before her.
    “Mery, come here!” he called. The girl looked up, and then deftly marked her pages and stacked her