Wirrin’s first stop for the day, having left her pack and most of her stuff at Outolt, was to waste some money on some nicer clothes. As much as she preferred her travelling leathers and the lighter, summer clothes at the bottom of her pack, she would need something nicer to get into the library.

Even though the library was technically open to the public, it was property of the university, which was very much not open to the public. The first time Wirrin had tried to get into the library, she’d been told that she looked like the sort who would try to steal books and probably couldn’t read anyway.

Sadly, that librarian had had a serious fall on his way home that very evening and hadn’t been able to return to work for nearly a full month.

Wirrin had still had to buy herself nice clothes.

She didn’t want to travel with nice clothes, though. They took up too much room in her pack and they’d inevitably get stained and scuffed and torn anyway. So when she left Esbolva, she always sold the clothes back to the same laundry she bought them from.

Wirrin had always thought that the Oulvan Laundry had been lucky no one else took that name first. At least since she found out what the name meant, about ten years ago. The Clean Water Laundry was quite a big place, and fairly close to the centre of the city without being so close that Wirrin stood out badly by the time she arrived.

It was the laundry of choice for the fairly wealthy, but not spectacularly wealthy, so they always had some nice, second-hand clothes for Wirrin to buy. Especially at this time of year.

Wirrin went for a spring, linen-canvas outfit: thick ochre trousers, light cream shirt, thick red-ochre jacket. They were all a bit faded and the jacket’s lining was fairly thin. But Wirrin had found that her autumn leathers were a little too warm in Esbolva.

Really, the main thing was that they weren’t travelling clothes and they weren’t too expensive. On her way further into the city, Wirrin stopped to get her boot-heels resoled, and she figured that would have to be good enough.

The Esbolva university was one of the most central buildings in the city, nearly two hours walk from Outolt. It was joined around the main square by the Church and the town hall

Esbolva’s Church was quite pretty compared to any of the Church buildings south of there. It was the smallest of the three buildings around the square. All five walls were carved with extensive murals, one for each God, and it was missing the typical chased hangings by the main door.

Wirrin always noticed that the front wall, more than half of which was taken up by the large, open doors, was dedicated to Labour and decorated with hammers, buildings, and trades. Certainly it faced the square, but in meant that Labour’s mural was barely half the size of any of the others.

Wirrin took the outside path to the university’s library, not bothering to try to go through the main teaching building. She took the wide street between the university and the town hall and climbed the wide, stone steps up to the open wicket.

The university, town hall, and library had all once been Esbolva’s fortress and palace. Unlike in Ettovica, the Church hadn’t destroyed the palace, and so it was still here, five-hundred-odd years later.

The wicket led into a large antechamber with high, vaulted ceilings, a long desk for whoever was stuck on reception, and a lot of empty space. The second set of doors that would once have blocked entrance to the rest of the palace had been removed so long ago the hinges had rusted to nothing in the interim.

Wirrin approached the very long desk and the two, chatting librarians. Being a member of the public, she had to sign in and declare what sort of information she was looking for, just in case something went missing.

Neither receptionist paid Wirrin any mind as she signed herself in, which was a distinct improvement from the last time she had visited. They didn’t even check the logbook as Wirrin gave them a vague smile and wandered into the library.

Wirrin had been to the library a few times over the years and she was fairly sure she knew where to find what she was looking for. She wasn’t even completely sure that she needed to find it, but she supposed it was better to double-check than to aimlessly wander the wetlands.

Besides, Wirrin liked the Esbolva library. Beyond the antechamber, the tall hallway has been neatly divided into two storeys. The wooden floor for the upper storey was three layers thick and sometimes wood dust drifted into the bottom level when someone walked over the wrong planks.

The shelves were tall and thick and darkly stained. The paths through the books were wide and dim, with the occasional burst of warm sunshine through the massive windows.

Wirrin’s goal was fairly far into the old palace. Past the front hall had once been a throne room, as far as Wirrin was aware. The throne had been removed back when Esbolva had been taken over by the Church. Now it was a three-storey room with concentric rows of books.

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Thick, wooden stairs spiralled around the outside of the room, leading Wirrin up to the top level where the bookshelves were largely replaced with racks and cases of maps.

Wirrin had spent a lot of time reading the maps up here, back when she’d first made it into the library. And even eighteen years later, she still remembered where the old maps of the region were kept.

Despite having passed a few people on her way up here, Wirrin was still surprised to find someone else browsing the maps. The library was never crowded, in Wirrin’s experience, but when it came to anything even a little bit niche, it tended to be close to deserted.

A woman, probably in her early forties, pale and chubby like a lot of the local academics, had an arm-full of maps and was frowning intently at the scroll case in front of her. Her clothes, a knitted jumper and heavy trousers, were faded and patched, but at least they weren’t travelling clothes.

She turned when Wirrin rounded the corner and smiled, revealing smile lines around her eyes and mouth. She had the classic round face, almond, monolidded eyes and black hair of a local. Wirrin wondered if she looked reminiscent of the siblings, but she had a wider, flatter nose. It was probably just regional similarity.

‘Sorry,’ the woman said, still smiling. ‘Were you…’ She indicated the shelf with her arm-full of maps. ‘I’ve already got most of the old maps of the area.’ She had a pleasant, deep voice.

Her look and demeanour were too calm and pleasant for there to be any actual relation to the siblings, Wirrin decided.

‘I was,’ Wirrin said, smiling just a little. ‘But that’s alright, I’m sure there’s still something interesting left.’

The woman smiled wider and shook her head. ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘I’ve got all the interesting ones, I assure you.’ She nodded over to one of the tables nearby. ‘Why don’t you join me, though? We can look through them at the same time, I’m sure.’

Wirrin too, smiled wider. ‘Sounds very pleasant.’

‘Oh good,’ the woman sighed. ‘Can you reach a couple more down for me? My hands are pretty full already.’

Wirrin approached to stand right by the woman and look at the scroll case with her. ‘These ones?’ Wirrin took down two that she remembered the labels for. ‘Any others?’

‘Oh, we really are looking for the same thing,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Bilar. I’d shake your hands but, well…’ She jostled her armful of maps.

Wirrin chuckled. ‘I’m Wirrin,’ she said. ‘I’m sure we can shake hands when you’ve put all of those down.’

Bilar nodded along, still smiling her wonderful smile. ‘Can you grab this one as well?’ She bumped the scroll with her head to indicate it and Wirrin grabbed it.

Once all the maps were down on the table, Bilar took both of Wirrin’s hands to shake lightly. Her hands were smooth and warm, and they both held the shake for a little longer than was really necessary.

‘Maybe I’m making assumptions, Wirrin,’ Bilar said, sitting and patting the chair beside her. ‘But I don’t think you’re an academic.’

‘You’re not wrong,’ Wirrin said. ‘And I think you, Bilar, an academic, would know.’

Bilar smiled and spread out one of the maps. It showed a much smaller Esbolva on the far left, beside the Boclas River. On the east side of the river was the wetland and forest, missing the current pine tree farms.

‘Being an academic isn’t a lucrative business, Wirrin,’ Bilar smiled, smoothing a hand over the map. ‘So I’m looking for some old ruin that’s supposed to be in the wetland around… here.’ With one finger, she circled the whole wetland.

‘Looks like you were right then,’ Wirrin said. ‘We are looking for the same thing. My interest has nothing to do with money, mind you.’

‘Oh, how I yearn to be so free,’ Bilar smiled. ‘Are you some sort of adventurer, then, Wirrin? Scouring the land for interesting things?’

Wirrin chuckled. ‘I suppose I am. But in this case, Bilar, I’ve already scoured the land.’

‘So have my clients,’ Bilar said. ‘Or so they tell me. And they’ve had no luck finding any ruins. So here I am, reading maps about a wetland, just to afford more patches for my jumper.’

Wirrin chuckled again. ‘Surely the life of an academic isn’t so poverty-stricken?’

Bilar grinned. ‘Alright, it’s not. But we need luxuries in life, Wirrin, don’t you think? I think I’ll go mad if I eat any more rice and mutton stews.’

‘All you need is good company,’ Wirrin claimed. ‘And any food suddenly tastes wonderous.’

Bilar snorted. ‘Well you can buy me some of that wonderous, company food once I’ve found where this ruin is supposed to be. With the two of us at it, I’m sure we’ll be done in time for lunch.’

Wirrin grinned. ‘I’ll take that deal.’

She spread one of the maps she’d pulled down beside Bilar’s map. This one was smaller and covered a larger area, from Telenva to Louyava. And it was an old map indeed. This map held most of the information that had led Wirrin to the ruins in the first place.

‘Oh, you’re a very smart woman,’ Bilar said, leaning close to Wirrin to look at the map. ‘Start with a much simpler question. How are ruins formed?’

Wirrin smiled and leaned in as well, her shoulder bumping Bilar’s. The map she’d picked showed the trail of the Church’s armies during the Gods’ War. And right beside the Boclas river, the Church had stopped in the wetland for some reason.

Wirrin was quite sure she knew, now, why the Church had stopped there. Though when she’d found the ruins in her late teens, there’s been nothing interesting to see. Only broken stones with illegible carvings.

She retrieved a scrap of vellum from her pocket. ‘Did you take the…’ She spotted it before she could finish the question and unrolled a much bigger map across most of the table.

This was a surveyor’s map of the wetland, and part of the forest and river.

‘I’m starting to think that your search was much more fruitful than my client’s,’ Bilar said, not breaking contact with Wirrin as she gazed at the map.

‘It was,’ Wirrin said. ‘And I was recently reminded of it and decided to go and take another look.’ She glanced from the map to Bilar’s face. ‘When I’m finished with my luxury in the city.’

Bilar snorted. ‘I’m starting to think you don’t have many opportunities to practice seduction as an adventurer.’

Wirrin cracked up, leaning away and covering her mouth lest a librarian come and shush her.

‘Oh,’ Bilar said, immediately sobering. ‘I see it now. You are very smart, Wirrin, I must say.’ She put a finger at the stopping point on the military history map and searched around on the surveyor’s map.

Wirrin coughed and tried to control herself. ‘You found it much faster than I did.’

‘Only because you were so very helpful.’

Bilar produced a much neater sheet of vellum from a pocket and started drawing, shifting all the maps away so that she wouldn’t accidentally stain them.

Wirrin managed to recover enough to do the same. Though Bilar’s map was much more detailed than Wirrin’s.

‘You can’t assume that rich people know how to read maps, Wirrin,’ Bilar said, when Wirrin tucked her own map back into her pocket.

Wirrin snorted.