The Destruction of the Books - Hardcover

Odom, Mel

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0765307235 ISBN 13: 9780765307231

Verlag: St Martin's Press, 2004

Inhaltsangabe

One hundred years after the events of The Rover, master librarian Edgewick Lamplighter sends his bored halfling apprentice, Jugh, to retrieve an enchanted rare book that sets fire to the Great Library Vault's priceless collection. 15,000 first printing.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Mel Odom is a bestselling writer for hire for Wizards of the Coast's Forgotten Realms, Gold Eagle's Mack Bolan, and Pocket's Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel book lines. His debut SF novel Lethal Interface made the Locus recommended list . The Rover was an Alyx Award winner. He has also written a scientific adventure of the high seas set in the 19th century entitled Hunters of the Dark Sea.

The Destruction of the Books is the first book in a duology sequel to The Rover.
He lives in Oklahoma.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

1
 
Kelloch's Harbor
 
 
ere now! What'd ye think ye're a-doin' with yerself?"
Startled by the booming voice that penetrated even the raucous nightly crowing and lying of the sailors and cargo handlers that filled the Broken Tiller, Juhg looked up. His hands moved automatically to close the journal he'd been working in. Just as rapidly, for he had learned to be quick of hand if he wanted to eat or go unpunished among the goblin slavers that had once owned him, he shifted the handmade book beneath the plate that still held half his dinner. The dim oil lanterns and tallow candles that lit the tavern created long and deep shadows that aided his efforts.
Raisho, a young sailor of Windchaser--the ship Juhg currently sailed with--stood in front of the small table Juhg had taken at the back of the tavern. Raisho was human, an inch or two over six feet, and broad of shoulder from pulling oars and shifting cargo all of his life. At twenty years, he was young for an adult among his kind, and he still went smooth-shaven because he could not yet command a full beard. A red leather band festooned with osprey feathers held his unruly black hair back in a queue that left his forehead bare and trailed a ponytail to the base of his neck. The sun, wind, and weather had tanned his skin deep, supple warm ebony, save where it was marked with a seaman's indigo blue tattoos wishful of good luck. Lantern light glinted on the silver hoops he wore in both ears. His dark brown eyes sparkled with merriment at Juhg's reaction.
Although tall for a dweller, Juhg stood only a little more than half his friend's size. His fair hair and skin that still held the cherry glow of a newfound tan contrasted sharply. Raisho looked every inch a sailing man, while Juhg looked something like a miniature version of a merchant in the hand-tailored clothes that he took such care in. Except that no merchant was ever a dweller in the northern climes of the mainland.
Nor did any dweller know how to write. Fear trailed cat's claws across Juhg's shoulders. He swallowed hard.
Thankfully, no one in the loud tavern appeared to have noticed the young sailor's comments. The Broken Tiller lived up to its name as a place where men who fought the sea for a living gathered to spend their time in lazy circles of talking, drinking, and eating. Small and crowded by a low ceiling, the tavern had an earthen floor covered by crushed oyster shells that staved off most of the mud when the torrential rains that often wracked the coast came stealing in the light of day or the loneliness of night.
"You might warn someone when you were about to pounce on them," Juhg replied irritably.
Lowering his voice, Raisho said, "An' ye might want to give a thought that maybe ye ain't back on Greydawn Moors, or at the Vault, where dwellers read an' write an' such like it ain't nothin'."
Despite his embarrassment at being surprised, Juhg knew the young sailor was correct. Writing in the journal, even as compelling as the exercise had been and as active as his mind insisted on being, was a mistake. Juhg was a dweller, one of a race that had been enslaved by goblin slavers for centuries, even after the evil Lord Kharrion had been defeated by the combined remnants of armies made up of humans, elves, and dwarves.
The dwellers hadn't fought in those battles against Lord Kharrion and his goblin hordes. Dweller natures prevented them from massing for battle, as the gods had intended. The Old Ones had shaped dwellers to be survivors, and one of the greatest survival skills was cowardice. Still, the lack of effort for the dwellers' own freedom and lives had left rancorous feelings among the other peoples of the world.
"Were it not me," Raisho said, "an' were it a goblin what found ye a-scribblin' in that book, why, ye'd be drawn an' quartered an' thrown out into that muddy street what lies outside them doors."
"I know." Juhg took the book from under his plate and pocketed it in his worn gray traveling cloak.
He rolled the quill he'd been using back into the waterproof oilskin that he carried them in, keeping all the quills straight and orderly as his training dictated. He wasn't neat and orderly by nature; those skills had come from his training at the Great Library. Capping the inkwell he'd kept out of sight on the chair beside him, he put the small bottle into his pocket as well.
"Ye mind if I sit?" Raisho asked.
"I'm sorry. Please do." Juhg gestured to the other side of the table.
Raisho didn't find a chair immediately to hand. He glanced a little farther afield, then hooked a chair with a foot and yanked it over. He sat in the chair, taking care to shift the cutlass and long knife he wore at his hips. When he finished with his adjustments, both blades lay quick within reach.
"What are you doing here?" Juhg asked.
"Came to find ye."
"Why?"
"Wanted to share me good fortune with the one what was somewhat responsible fer it." Raisho rubbed his palms together. Calluses midwifed by long hours of handing ship's rigging and scraping barnacles rasped against each other.
Juhg raised his eyebrows. "Our good fortune, you mean?"
"Aye." Raisho nodded with good-natured reluctance. "Our good fortune, then."
Unable to keep either impatience or hope from his voice, Juhg finally gave up any attempt at feigning disinterest. After all, the purchases at the last port intended for sale here were primarily his suggestion based on independent reading he'd undertaken. "You sold our goods well?"
A broad white smile split Raisho's face. "Well enough, little bookworm. Well enough, indeed." The young sailor jingled a modest purse. The silvery tinkle of the coins inside sounded promising.
In spite of himself, Juhg's ears pricked and he began attempting to guess at their profits based on the clinks he heard. Much of those profits, he knew, depended on how well the Cheemantine blankets had brought in an unproven market.
"The blankets?" Juhg asked.
Raisho nodded. "Mighty cold up here, but people still have an eye fer fashion. As ye guessed."
Juhg smiled. Buying the blankets had been a gamble, and he felt satisfaction that the investment had paid off. Cheemantine blankets served to fight the chill of long winter nights, but each was uniquely made with patterns that were--reportedly, at least--not duplicated by the blanket makers. Even among the poor, hardscrabble environment of Kelloch's Harbor, Juhg had felt certain buyers would want individual things, items that others around them could not duplicate.
Raisho lifted a hand and drew the attention of a serving maid.
She was a young lass, dressed in a simple homespun gown, and quick to respond to the young sailor despite her tired eyes.
"Don't go around advertising your newfound wealth," Juhg cautioned. His innate dweller's nature to run and hide in the face of physical adversity rose to the surface. "Otherwise you'll lose that profit, and perhaps your very life, before you make it back to the ship."
Raisho grinned again. "Not without me bustin' a head or two, I won't."
"It could be that I would be with you. Kelloch's Harbor is not a safe place. This place is not a town built on trade. It's a waterhole filled with cutthroats and scoundrels." Juhg drummed his fingers on the leaning tabletop. Sometimes the young sailor chose to be very dense about inferred dialogue. Juhg felt uncomfortable with some direct conversations circumstances had forced him to have with his friend and fellow investor.
"Oh."
"And I cannot run nearly as fast as you can."
"I would stand an' fight at your side till the bitter end," Raisho promised. "I wouldn't leave ye there."
Juhg knew that Raisho meant what he said. Unfortunately, it would only mean the doom of us both. The dweller sighed, one of the acts that everyone accused dwellers of holding in common, a trait that...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: St Martin's Press
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2004
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0765307235
• ISBN 13: 9780765307231
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 381
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Procter & Gamble Service GmbH, Braun; https://in.pg.com/contact-us/; ; Sulzbacher Str. 40-50; Schwalbach/Ts.; 65824; Deutschland