As it turns out, I won’t have to.
Lord Gleinleigh’s permit is exclusive, yes—but that means he can grant permission to anybody he likes. The Akhians asked right after he found the cache, and he turned them down . . . but when I spoke to him this morning, I pointed out that if anything else significant is found there later on, everyone will think he’s a fool for not having searched further. Whereas if he let me go have a look around, he’d be the rich patron getting credit for further discoveries.
I honestly didn’t expect it to work. I’ve spent years trying to shut Dorak down, and I’m sure at least half of Gleinleigh’s collection came through that bastard’s warehouses. But his ego is as big as his collection, and I think the prospect of other people mocking him was too much to bear.
He didn’t agree right away, mind you. At first he said vague things about future plans, only right now he’s wholly occupied with the tablets and not really able to devote as much attention as he would like to hunting for more finds—as if he’s doing any work at all, entertaining himself in Ecraie while Audrey chips away at the translation one glyph at a time. I’m not surprised he isn’t eager to decamp to Akhia again. In fact, I think this Qajr expedition was the first time he’s gone into the field himself (unless you count Continental resorts as “the field”).
But then he got down to business and gouged me for a hefty license—making back some of what he paid for his own permit, I’m sure—and, well, I was so surprised to find him willing at all, I agreed.
I don’t think he expects me to find anything. In fact, I wonder if he’s already searched the area so thoroughly, he knows there’s nothing left to find, and therefore doesn’t care if I poke my nose around. But his people can’t possibly have been there long enough to be certain of that, not when that part of the Qajr is pocked with so many little caves. And if nothing else, I can at least tell myself I did my best to get to anything useful before the looters did.
So apparently I’m going to Akhia, and soon. Buying that license means I can’t finance more than a brief trip out of my own pocket, but I have a hunch Lord Trent might be persuaded to assist with funding, what with his granddaughter working on the original cache and all. (Your own budget is safe, never fear. At least until I come around next week and talk to you about Rafaat’s proposal.)
How is Audrey getting on, anyway? I know it’s only been a week or so, but I would have expected to get six letters already with updates on her progress. Lord Gleinleigh isn’t censoring her mail, is he?
Your friend,
Alan
FROM THE NOTEBOOK OF CORA FITZARTHUR
Audrey wrote a letter to her father today. I’m not sure if I should tell Uncle or not. It says that the work is surprisingly difficult; that she’s excited to do it anyway; that it will probably take her a long time, though she doesn’t say how long; and that she’s read enough so far that she doesn’t think it’s right for her to work on something this important by herself. Then she asks her father if he thinks someone named Kudshayn would be available, assuming she can make the arrangements with Uncle for another person to assist her.
She’s right that I’m not enough of an assistant, though she doesn’t say it outright. The language is much more complicated than I realized, and besides which, it annoys me. It doesn’t make any sense, even more than Scirling doesn’t make sense.
None of that says anything about the tablets, not really, nor about Uncle, which is what he wanted me to look for. But she wants to work with this Kudshayn, and that would mean telling him all about what she’s doing. Even if she decides not to talk to Uncle about the idea, I think he should know she was considering it, because he wants this all to be kept secret until it’s ready.
I will write to him tomorrow.
FROM THE DIARY OF AUDREY CAMHERST
19 Pluvis
I am writing it down here, so that I can’t funk out and pretend I didn’t make this decision: today I’m going to talk to Lord Gleinleigh about Kudshayn.
He’s finally back at Stokesley. He was in Thiessin on a matter of business, and came back with crates of new acquisitions—sun knows where he’ll put them, as this place is already stuffed to the ceilings. Mostly Erigan, if you can believe it; he says that’s because of me. I think he means it to be flattering? He wanted my opinion on them, and it was all I could do not to say “I hope they aren’t looted.” They aren’t antiquities for the most part, but I cannot look around Stokesley without hearing Alan, Simeon, and Grandpapa in my mind, all gnashing their teeth in chorus. Not just the Draconean materials, though of course those are the most galling; I’m sure Gleinleigh got half these things on the black market.
Maybe if this translation makes him piles of money, he’ll be happy enough with me that I can persuade him to stop doing that.
Honestly, it’s been a bit of a relief to have him gone. I’m glad he wants to assist me in any way he can, but it’s rapidly become clear that Lord Gleinleigh is the kind of man who cannot see an idea without needing to put his own “improvements” on it. (He installed mirrors in the greenhouse, after I realized I could use it to work on transcription during rainy spells. They don’t do much good when it’s gloomy out, and on sunny days I feel like an ant being fried by a sadistic schoolboy.)
And every time I see him, he asks how things are going. Which is understandable enough—except I can see the gears in his mind turning like a calculating machine, checking my current progress against the timeline I gave him. I’m doing reasonably well, but having him peering over my shoulder with a pocket watch in his hand (metaphorically speaking) doesn’t make the work any easier.
Though I have to admit that in some ways, his requirement of secrecy is making this easier. If I were writing to all my friends and family as usual, I’d have them peering over my shoulder (meta phorically speaking), and I care much more for their opinions than I do for Lord Gleinleigh’s. Secrecy at least means Grandpapa never has to know that I’ve been doing this all out of order, translating as I go rather than copying and transcribing the whole thing first.
He’s probably right that I’ll wind up regretting it eventually. Later on I’ll realize the scribe had a certain quirk I’ve been overlooking by doing things piecemeal or something else foolish like that. But I certainly don’t regret it so far! With most texts, copying and transcribing is enough to give you a good sense of what they say, with only bits here and there that feel like running headfirst into a brick wall. This one is long stretches of brick wall punctuated by just enough easy reading to lure you into a false sense of optimism. If I didn’t translate as I went, I’d have to wait ages to find out what it says! I’m not made of stone. (Though I suppose the Anevrai would say I am, being human and all. Assuming āmu really does mean “human.”)
Now I’ve lost the thread of my thought. Lord Gleinleigh—that’s right. We’re having luncheon together today (Cora still doesn’t eat with me); I intend to ask then. I’m a little worried he’ll think I’m breaking my promise of secrecy, but I won’t breathe a word, even to Kudshayn, unless Gleinleigh gives me permission.