The City is easy enough to find your way around. If you’re with someone who’s grown up in it and knows it like the back of their hand, or if you stick to the main streets and those you’re familiar with. If you decide to go looking for a place you don’t know in an area you don’t know, on the other hand, you can expect to find yourself lost very quickly.
And that’s what happens to me. I take two lefts and a right, follow the street for a hundred yards, and find myself at a T-junction that the directions definitely didn’t imply I would encounter. The next step is supposed to be turning right at a crossroads, so I take the right turn and hope for the best.
But I fail to reach anything that fits with what little I remember of the directions. Instead I find myself entering a small, quiet park. It’s a peaceful place, and if I’d found it some other way I would have quite liked to sit here and contemplate the world. Right now, though, I just want to find my way through it and get to the Archive.
I’ll have to stop and ask someone for directions. There’s no sense in getting myself further lost. It’s started to rain a little while I’ve been walking, though, which means that any people who would be in this park on a cold weekday afternoon have retreated indoors. My coat is waterproof enough that the rain doesn’t bother me too much, at least.
No-one to ask for directions, then. I feel very alone suddenly. No-one knows I’m here.
Stars, I’m an idiot. I should know better than to just charge off on a research mission without stopping to make sure I knew where I was going and what I was doing. Without stopping to make sure someone else knew where I was going and what I was doing.
Nothing bad is going to happen to me, I tell myself. But you always tell yourself that, and sometimes something bad does happen and you haven’t taken the right precautions.
I have Lord Blackthorn’s emergency ring still – I’ve been wearing it everywhere, and I barely notice it by now – and he can track me by that if the worst happens. But contacting him because I’m mildly lost and a little paranoid doesn’t seem like the best of ideas.
What do I do instead, then? I know I’m able to retrace my steps to the Library and from there make it back to the Academy. And then I could just try again another day. But unless I bring my source of money also known as Edward along, I’ll have to make a second trip once I know the price, and I only have a handful of days before I have to leave the Academy. It would be so much easier if I could just find it this time.
And it’s in the Inner Ring, which is only a mile or two in diameter. You can only get so lost within a circle of that size before you find one of the Great Roads or the wall. And assuming the receptionist’s directions were meant to be helpful and I interpreted at least the first step or two correctly, I can narrow down the search area much more than that.
I’ll need to be methodical about it, and careful. But the good thing about no-one knowing where I am is that no-one with ill intentions towards me knows where I am. So, in theory at least, I’ll be okay. Just as long as I don’t make doing stupid things like this a habit.
It takes me another fifteen minutes’ careful searching of the streets before I find Paper Street, which apparently hosts the Archive. The rain gets heavier until it’s enough to bother me and I once again have cause to regret not knowing enough basic utility spells. But it chases people off the streets, which means no more awkward encounters with strangers who think they know everything about me.
The quiet is almost more unsettling. Every time I hear a door slam or the distant sound of horses’ hooves I jump and glance around me to make sure I’m not being followed. It doesn’t help that, though I still have an hour or two before the sun sets, the clouds are dark enough that it feels much later than it is. Something about walking in the dark always makes me feel instinctively unsafe.
But no-one approaches me and nothing untoward happens to me until I squint up at another street-sign, consider casting a light-spell, and make out the name I’m looking for. It feels like much more of a victory than it is, and it gives me the energy to jog down the street until I reach the Archive.
It’s a building much like the others on the street, at least outwardly. Most of its neighbours are residential, though: everyone who’s anyone wants to live in the Inner Ring, but the government and business buildings are mostly clustered close to its centre, pushing the homes out to places like this within a few streets of the wall.
The Archive advertises itself with a simple gold plaque on its door, which is separated from the street by a pair of steps. The doorway isn’t quite large enough that I can properly shelter myself from the weather there, so I knock as loudly as I can and only then realise that I never thought to ask or check its opening hours.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“Okay,” I say to the empty air. “New rule: next time I have the urge to run off on missions like this, plan first.”
No-one opens the door. The Archive should list its opening hours outside, I decide; this isn’t just the result of planning failures on my part… though that is still most of the problem.
I’m just about to leave when there’s a sound of something heavy being moved, and then the door swings slowly open. I stumble gratefully inside and out of the rain, realising too late that I’m tracking water all over the shiny marble floor. Well, there go my chances of making a good first impression.
I glance around. The room is small yet grand, and would have been the height of fashion for an entrance chamber two or three centuries ago: in addition to the floor, the wood-panelled walls are carved with intricate decoration, mostly patterns of interlocking leaves, and the ceiling is painted with stars. A large door of oak is set into the opposite wall, just behind a desk piled with enough paperwork for a person to hide behind.
For a moment, not seeing anyone, I think that there is in fact a person hiding behind it. But then I glance to the side and see a tiny old man struggling to heave the door I entered through shut with one hand while leaning on a cane with the other.
“Here,” I say quickly. “Let me – “ and I step towards him and push the door. I’m not surprised he was struggling: it’s heavy, and I have to put my weight behind it to persuade it to move. But it shifts eventually, and then clicks shut suddenly enough that I stagger and almost fall.
“Thank you, miss,” the man says. His voice is stronger than his body, that of a much younger man. “It’s getting harder to move that big door with these old bones. Should get an enchantment set up. Arnold Alberts,” he says abruptly, offering me his cane-free hand to shake. “Chief curator of the Archive of Public Information. Not that I do much actual curation, mind, but…”
I blink a few times and accept the handshake. His grip is still firm and strong. The Archive is one of the country’s institutions. A resource used by lawyers and politicians, a resource that’s vitally important. I don’t know what I expected it to be like, but certainly not… this. “Tallulah,” I say. “I’m sorry I brought the rain in.”
“Only water,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Tallulah, eh? Pretty name. Unusual. Where’ve I heard it before?”
I have a feeling I know where he might have heard it before, but I don’t want to remind him. I shrug and move on quickly. “I’d like to enquire about the fee to access information.”
“Yes. That depends what you’re looking for. The older stuff’s more expensive, and if you’ll be wanting copies made that’s more as well.”
“How much,” I ask, “for full details of all Malaina who have been executed under Section Twelve of the Qualification for Malaina Work Bill in the last, say, five years? With copies?”
“Well, that would depend exactly how many cases you’re looking at, but it’s not going to be cheap. Malaina, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Of course – that’s where I know the name. That girl who – that’s you, isn’t it?”
“Tallulah Roberts,” I say bitterly. “The girl who stood up to the Black Raven himself and lived to tell the tale. That’s me. Hi.”
“Oh, don’t be like that,” he replies. “I’m not one of those idiots. Lord Blackthorn’s a decent enough fellow, as they go. Bit intense sometimes, sure, but…”
“You’re talking like you know – never mind, of course you do.” The currency of every intelligence officer is information, and that’s exactly what this place offers. It only makes sense that Lord Blackthorn would value making people like Arnold his.
He laughs. “I couldn’t possibly comment. It’s good to meet you, Tallulah Roberts.”
“It’s good to meet you too,” I say, surprised to find I mean it.
“So you’re interested in Malaina rights, then?”
“That’s one way of putting it,” I say. “Things need to change, and since I’ve found myself famous I might as well use it to do something good.”
“I wish you the very best of luck. Now, about those records, I’ll need to consult with the girls before I can give you a price. How soon are you going to want the copies?”
“Well – ideally by tomorrow – is that too soon?” If it’s not, it’ll have to wait until I return after Holy Days. It would make things harder, as well, to not have the evidence before I talk to the proper lawyers.
“Too soon? Tallulah, we may be an unusual operation, but we’re efficient. You come back at nine after midnight tomorrow and we’ll have those copies for you.”
I find myself smiling. “That sounds great. Thank you so much. If you don’t mind me asking – who are the girls?”
“My daughters. Twins. They’re the ones who actually run this place, but they don’t do people. Least, not most people.”
I’m curious, very curious, but I don’t feel as if I should ask anything.
“I’ll go ask them about the price, then. Just wait here, I shan’t be more than ten minutes.”
“Thank you.”
Arnold hobbles across the room and past the desk to the other door. I realise belatedly that I should help him through it, but there’s no need: he taps his cane on the floor and it swings open. That door evidently is enchanted. I don’t get more than a glimpse of what’s on the other side – a large, cavernous space filled with shelves – before he’s through and the door is shut behind him.
Well. Wait about ten minutes. I don’t mind that; at least it’s not raining in here. There are no chairs, though, except Arnold’s behind the desk, which I probably shouldn’t steal. And the walls are too ornate for me to feel comfortable leaning against them. I settle for resting my back against the door.
I want to meet Arnold’s daughters. I want to see inside the Archive itself. I want to understand how this strange family ended up running such an important institution. I definitely want to know what arrangement Lord Blackthorn has with them and whether news of my visit is likely to find its way to him. That doesn’t matter too much, though, since it’s inevitable that he’ll hear about my plans soon enough.
He might not approve of them, I realise. Or might not approve of me taking this action without consulting him first. I consider asking his permission for all of a second before rejecting the idea. Whatever he may think, I am not one of his people and I do not need his permission to file a lawsuit.
I’m sufficiently distracted by that surge of righteous anger that I jump when I hear the knock at the door.