The smell of parchment and cold, oiled metal stole into Robin’s nose from the library stacks around him. Now that the Broken Knucklebones were committed to at least scouting out Ruprecht’s dungeon, it was time to nudge the Head Librarian toward the forgery sitting in Dag’s little vault. He’d hit the gang from both sides and in the process take a step toward hopefully gaining the Head Librarian’s favour.

Robin was once again in his Marq persona, casually browsing a stack of etched metal discs which held musical notations in a form unfamiliar to him. Unfortunately, [Tongue of the Fallen Tower] didn’t allow him to read the musical notations, for all that some would call music a universal language.

This inability bothered him, though Robin couldn’t say precisely why. Maybe it was just his pride as a fledgeling bard. In any case, it was hardly a problem for today.

Robin shifted a bit to keep his eye on the potential solution to his ‘today-problem’. The young librarian he had spoken with in his guise as one of the sylvariel was reshelving scrolls two aisles further along. She’d be here soon enough and then he’d have a chance to ask her a question, which should lead to the scroll Dag had stolen from him, and then hopefully to her pushing for a meeting with the Head Librarian for him.

She seemed the type. Zealous, eager to please, and ambitious. If he dangled the opportunity to score points with her boss in front of her, Robin was sure she’d take it. His Empathy skill hadn’t steered him wrong in a situation like this yet.

One aisle away now. Robin kept his head down over the metal disc in his hands, peering over it to keep track of the librarian from the edge of his vision. She returned another scroll to its niche. Then another.

Come on, come on. He didn’t have all day. Robin fidgeted, then swapped the disc he was looking at for another. All that nervous energy needed a place to go. He glanced at the lyrics. They spoke of visions conjured from the air. Huh. Illusions? This one might be interesting.

No. Not now.

Robin blinked away the distraction. He had to time this just right. The librarian was finished in that aisle and was headed out. The bard began counting tempo in his head. He stepped out of the aisle just a moment after the librarian stepped out of hers, pivoted sharply as soon as he did so and—crash!

Robin slammed into the librarian. Metal discs and scrolls cascaded down around them, sending up a terrible clatter. Robin swore dramatically.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, collapsing to his knees to pick everything up, making sure to grab some of the librarian’s scrolls in the process. Sorting them out would give him time to talk.

From the glare she levelled at him, he’d need several. Robin grabbed a couple more just to be safe. At least he hoped they were hers.

‘I’m just looking at these old ballads, trying to take my mind off things,’ Robin began to babble, quite deliberately. Keep the librarian off balance, don’t let her go on the offensive.

Because when this one went on the offensive it was very offensive. To his dignity at least. He’d seen it first-hand already.

‘I was robbed, you see,’ he continued. ‘I went through nine kinds of hells on this dungeon delve, saw people I adventured with die, and got stuck with a mix of treasure that was partly forgery and partly the real deal, but no real way of knowing how to tell which was which, you know? And in the process of trying to sort it all out, this gang of thugs—thugs!—shakes me down and beats the lot out of me. All of it! The coins, the gemstones, the artefacts…I was just on the cusp of figuring out if this scroll I’d found was the real deal or not. It was some kind of detailed accounting, something to do with the legendary Tarin-Tiran, a hero named Dionycles, and the Order of the Lidless, All-Seeing Orb of Something or Other, and—’

‘Wait. Do you perhaps mean the Order of the Ever-Gazing Eye?’

Finally! Robin had been beginning to think she’d never interrupt him. He’d run dry of hints to drop sooner rather than later at the rate he’d been going.

‘That could have been it, yes,’ he said, trying to look thoughtful. ‘I didn’t have a lot of time to examine it. I have a tavern to run and performances to keep up if I want to eat, you know, not knowing if any of the treasure I brought back was worth anything or—’

‘Yes, yes. My deepest condolences. What else can you remember about this manuscript you found? Where did you say it was?’

‘A living dungeon, beneath the city.’

How had she not heard this story? He’d been trying so hard to spread it! Weren’t librarians supposed to be interested in things like that? Tales? Knowledge? Information?

It was rude is what it was.

‘What was the dungeon’s focus?’ The librarian was staring at him intently.

Robin felt like a bug under a microscope.

‘Focus?’ Did she mean what Ruprecht was good at? ‘I’m not sure. there were a lot of traps and hidden passageways, lots of shapeshifters—’

‘Were there any illusions?’ The woman was intent.

That, Robin decided, was what was known as a leading question. His instincts told him she really wanted him to say yes, so he did. He could be led.

‘I did witness several illusions while I was down there,’ he temporised.

It was entirely true. They had almost all been his illusions, of course, but that wasn’t what she had asked. And plenty of the treasure was ‘illusory’ in that it was fake, or mimics pretending to be treasure.

‘It could be enough,’ the librarian muttered to herself. ‘Not common, no, but it’s precisely the sort of place these things usually turn up. It might be worth investigating.’

‘What might be worth investigating?’

Robin nearly jumped out of his skin as Vance appeared.

‘The bard might have found something,’ the librarian answered. ‘I’m trying to ascertain how likely it is, but he’s predictably obtuse and unobservant.’

‘Hey!’ Robin came to his own defence.

Someone had to.

‘Are you sure, Vryngylla?’ Vance shot Robin a measuring look.

Vryngylla didn’t notice. She was too busy speaking a mile a minute, catching Vance up on ‘her’ discovery.

‘I’m quite certain,’ she snapped. ‘Not all of us waste as much time adventuring as you do. Some of us actually apply ourselves and hone our observational skills to a fine point.’

Vance was an adventurer? That was news to Robin. Was he not White Company? He’d never seen Vance around the guildhall.

Though he’d been avoiding it a bit recently, what with hiding Ruprecht from the Guildmagister and all. Plus the thugs. And the quest.

‘Yes,’ Vance said slowly, flicking a glance to catch Robin’s eye, ‘it’s clear your observational and deductive skills are quite something.’

Robin’s heart sped up. There was no way of knowing what Vance might say next. The man certainly knew enough to put together that Robin had been asking about just such a translation as Vryngylla was describing, and that Robin had very much not mentioned it the last time the two had spoken. It wouldn’t be hard to put together that this was some kind of scam.

‘I wish I’d brought the scroll here earlier,’ Robin said quickly. ‘With your knowledge, I’m sure you’d’ve been able to tell me whether or not it looked like fake treasure or real.’ He shrugged, returning a glance at Vance. ‘Because it might very well be fake. We found a lot of fake treasure down there.’

His protest had the intended effect. Vance relaxed at the truth from Robin’s lips, and Vryngylla doubled down on the hope that the treasure might be real (and therefore of use to her burgeoning career).

‘It’s worth investigating,’ she insisted. ‘New material like this is rare enough as is, and what possible reason could a dungeon have for forging it? It’s far more likely to be authentic. It’s much easier to forge gold and gems and items. A scroll? With actual text? It has to be the real thing!’

‘That doesn’t logically follow!’ Vance protested.

‘Does it not?’ Robin piped in. ‘I thought the lady made sense.’

‘No, she didn’t—’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Vryngylla’s lips went white and her cheeks went pink. ‘Are you questioning my logic?’

‘No—well, yes, but—’ Vance’s protests quickly degenerated into monosyllables before he fell silent.

He didn’t have much other option. Vryngylla might as well have been lambasting him over an open flame. Vance had questioned her capabilities and that was something the librarian was clearly not prepared to countenance.

‘It definitely sounded like you were questioning her logic,’ Robin offered helpfully.

Vance shot him an irritated glance and Robin wriggled his eyebrows in response. Vryngylla was off. She was so incensed, she was ignoring library etiquette in terms of volume. Robin was sure she could be heard three floors up as she gave Vance a choice piece of her mind. And Vance’s objections had ended up neatly making Robin’s case for him. There was no way Vryngylla would back down now. Not after her expertise and competence had been drawn into question. She was invested.

‘I will personally see to it that the Head Librarian hears of this vital artefact and adds it to his collection as soon as—’

‘Uh, not to be a pessimist, but the item in question was stolen. I don’t have it any more.’ Robin did his best to sound meek and dejected.

‘Small-time toughs,’ Vryngylla dismissed his words with a flick of her fingers. ‘The watch can track them down and recover the item easily enough. Or a cadre of talented adventurers.’ The last was accompanying by a venomous look shot Vance’s direction.

‘I do know where their main flop is,’ Robin said. ‘I followed them, after, hoping I could sneak in and get my property back but…’ He trailed off and hung his head sorrowfully. ‘I am but a bard, alone. What could I do?’

‘What indeed,’ Vance muttered.

Robin resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the man. He had what he’d come here for.

Now he just needed to survive the interview with the Head Librarian. That man would be much harder to convince than Vryngylla.

And a lot scarier when he was angry.