“Don’t do this to me anymore!” She was deathly pale, struggled for breath. “I can’t bear it! I keep seeing those images of yours, the wretched child, watching his parents raped, murdered, their bodies torn apart. And he can’t scream, he’s so afraid. I see that woman you talk about. I feel her pain, her helplessness. I know the pain of bearing a child and I think of her alone, in that terrible place. She can’t scream, either, afraid that her cries will bring death to her and her baby. I can’t sleep nights for thinking of them, for knowing that we … I … I am responsible!”
Orla covered her face with her hands, to blot out any more images, and began to sob. Alfred was appalled at himself, uncertain how those images—that were really Haplo’s memories—got into his head.
“Sit . . . Good dog,” he said, shoving the animal’s head (was it grinning at him?) off his knee.
Hurriedly, he approached Orla. He had some vague notion of offering her his handkerchief. But his arms appeared to have other ideas. He watched in amazement to see them steal around the woman’s body, pull her close. She rested her head on his breast.
A tingling thrill shot through him. He held her, loved her with every fiber of his being. He stroked her shining hair with an awkward hand and, because he was Alfred, said something stupid.
“Orla, what knowledge is in the library of the Sartan that Samah doesn’t want anyone to know about?”
She struck him, shoved him back so violently that he tripped over the dog and fell into the rosebushes. Her anger blazed in her eyes and burned in her cheeks—anger and . . . was it Alfred’s imagination or did he see the same fear in her eyes that he’d seen in Samah’s?
Without a word, Orla turned and left him, walking from her garden in hurt, offended dignity.
Alfred struggled to disentangle himself from the thorns that were pricking him painfully. The dog offered assistance. Alfred glared at it.
“It’s all your fault!” he said crossly.
The animal cocked its head, looked innocent, denied the charge.
“It is, too. Putting such ideas into my head! Why don’t you go off and find that blasted master of yours and leave me alone! I can get myself into quite enough trouble without your help.”
Cocking its head in the other direction, the dog appeared to agree that this was true. It seemed to think the conversation had reached its logical conclusion, however, for it stretched luxuriously, bending forward over its forepaws, back over its hind end, and finally shook itself all over. Then, it trotted over to the garden gate, looked at Alfred expectantly.
Alfred felt himself go hot and cold, both at the same time— a most uncomfortable sensation.
“You’re telling me that we’re alone now, aren’t you? No one’s with us. No one’s watching us.”
The dog wagged its tail.
“We can . . .” Alfred swallowed. “We can go to the library.”
The dog wagged its tail again, its expression long-suffering and patient. It obviously considered Alfred slow and thickheaded, but was magnanimously willing to overlook these minor faults.
“But I can’t get inside. And if I could, I can’t get back out. Samah would catch me . . .”
The dog was afflicted by a sudden itch. Plopping down, it scratched vigorously, fixed Alfred with a stern gaze that seemed to say, Come, come. It’s me, remember?
“Oh, very well.”
Alfred cast a furtive glance around the garden, half-expecting Samah to leap out of the rosebushes and lay violent hands upon his person. When no one came, Alfred began to sing and dance the runes.
He stood outside the library. The dog dashed up to the door, sniffed at it with interest. Alfred slowly followed, gazed at the door sadly. The warding runes had, as Samah had promised, been strengthened.
” ‘Due to the current crisis situation and the fact that we cannot spare the staff needed to assist our patrons, the library is closed until further notice.’ ” Alfred read the sign aloud.
“It makes sense,” he insisted. “Who’s interested in doing any research anyway. They’re spending all their time trying to rebuild and establish their city, trying to decide what to do about the Patryns, and wondering where the rest of our people are and how to get in touch with them. They have to deal with the necromancers on Abarrach and these dragon-snakes …”