+ inload: Sixxe of Haends +

+ Sixxe of Haends: The Owlingmanne +

'Ar', he agreed, his voice a croak. 'Been here an eight-month, as I reck it.' The underscribe barely dares to breathe. The five of them have been careful to move often, but it seems the Owlingmanne knows exactly what has been happening in his Partition. Ferlinghetti stands carefully, and creeps towards the voices. He realises the two are conversing behind the shelves.

'Since yearturn? And yet they have done nothing? No work? No... intrigue?' the other queries. The underscribe assumes this is met with a nod, as the Owlingmanne says nothing before the other speaker continues. His voice is sibilant, breathy. 'Hapstance they may be met?'

'If such can be broughtwith, hap you may meet with them.' the Owlingmanne replies. 'But in what is my interest kept? There wages a war, mindful be.'

There is a tinny rattle. A beg-cash. Ferlinghetti steps away, heading for the back of the grubby repository.

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Ferlinghetti was breathing hard, hurrying along with the tome clutched to his chest. He had been able to cut through a back room back to the entrance hall of the Studii-atheneum, but a small bell, intended to alert the amanuensis to customers as the opening door knocked it aside, was attached to the entrance portal.

He had hardly noticed it during his previous visits to the repository, though its cheerful tinkling was at odds with the oppressive atmosphere across the City. Now he stared at it, hatefully. The underscribe was neither tall nor dextrous, and he had to stand awkwardly on tip-toes to silence the tiny clapper as he eased the door open, his other hand clutching the book. 

The door was, mercifully, well-oiled, and he slid his foot round to stop it closing. What remained of his bowels seemed to turn to liquid as the book slipped from his grasp, landing with a heavy, dusty thump on the floor.

A beat. Eyes wide.


He snatched up the book and threw the door back, setting the bell jangling. Hitching up his robe, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him, ducking down alley after alley in the way Veck - that is, Childeric, he chided himeslf – had taught him.

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