Rising tide - Mel Odom [65]
Iakhovas gestured at the door. In response, it opened with a creak and a flash of hot, bright light. The stench of burned clams swirled through the air for an instant. Without hesitation, the wizard strode into the building. He waved the wererats into position at the doorway.
"Come," he ordered Laaqueel.
The malenti followed him carefully, aware of the warning prickles running through her nervous system. The room was filled with books. Deep-hued bookshelves lined the wood-paneled walls and stood in stacks across the floor. Laaqueel had never seen so many books in her life. Only a few of the titles were visible to her, formed of raised gilt letters in gold, silver, and brightly colored thread. All of them seemed to concentrate on the hated field of magic.
A soft glow of blue light intensified in the back of the long room.
"You dare enter my sanctum unannounced?" a raspy voice challenged.
Turning, bringing her short sword up into the ready position, Laaqueel stared through the weak blue light.
A man sat at the other end of the long room. Piles of books occupied the shelves staggered all around him and stood in stacks across the rectangular table in front of him. The light came from glowing globes that floated behind him, leaving him only a featureless silhouette. Two empty chairs sat across the table from him.
"You know me, Serpentil," Iakhovas offered, "and it will be your mistake if you do not. I scheduled this meeting with you at this time." He walked closer to the table.
The silhouette sat silent and dark for a moment. Laaqueel noted the thin-fingered hand that rested lightly on a slim black volume closest to the man, then the man pointed at the glowing globes behind him. Obediently, the globes floated higher and forward, shedding more light over the table and the man sitting there.
He was dark complexioned and long faced like a sea horse. Hooded eyes halfway concealed a burning gaze. His long black hair hung to his shoulders and his chin sported an aggressive tuft of beard. His clothing was simple and unadorned. He indicated the chairs across from him.
"You may sit."
Iakhovas ignored the chairs and remained standing. "I've not time to be taken liberties with. If you're Jannaxil Serpentil then we should conclude our business with haste."
"I'm Jannaxil," the man said. He kept the slim black volume in his hand, stoking it absently. "What business is that?"
"I've never found coyness becoming," Iakhovas warned.
"And I've never found admitting guilt to someone who could be with the Waterdhavian Watch to be especially profitable," Jannaxil stated. His eyes narrowed. "I don't know you."
Iakhovas reached into his magical cloak and brought out two heavy books. "Then let your greed recognize these and provide me all the introduction I require for this transaction." He laid them on the table. Jannaxil immediately reached for them, larceny in his darting eyes.
Laaqueel recognized the books. She had been wondering about them for the last month. Three months ago, she'd succeeded in attacking a surface dweller cargo ship and taking the ship's scribe prisoner. It had been at Iakhovas's request. Back in the sahuagin village where Iakhovas ruled as a prince, the wizard had put the scribe to work copying two of the ancient texts they had found in different places over the years at his direction. The malenti hadn't seen the use in any of them because she couldn't read them, much less in duplicating their contents. A month ago, Iakhovas had killed the scribe and fed him to the sharks that had been charmed into watching over the village.
Jannaxil flipped through the texts with a practiced eye. "These are not the originals."
"No," Iakhovas agreed. "You don't have the price for the originals."
"If these copies exist, there could be others," the book dealer replied shrewdly.
"After I deliver these to you," Iakhovas agreed, "even more copies could be made, each of which you could sell. Do not make the mistake of trifling with me."
Jannaxil closed the books