school?â
âNo time for school.â Jordan had that same gleam in his eyes. âIâm going to be a Loyalist, too.â
Sarmillion swatted the air. âOh, absurdity. Oh, recklessness. You shall do no such thing. Your father would never forgive me. Besides, you need an education.â
âIâm getting one,â said Jordan.
The road sloped downwards and they followed it for several minutes without speaking.
âDo you know anything about a brass door near the library archives?â Jordan asked.
Sarmillionâs whiskers drooped into a scowl. âThat door is forbidden. Itâs no place for a child. And how ever did you hear of such a thing?â
Jordan coughed. âA scullery maid showed it to me.â
Sarmillion studied the boy, who immediately focused upon a hideous display of porcelain rooftop ornaments, and then the undercat understood. He could sniff out a lie as easily as a piece of fried trout. âWhat sort of mischief have you been dirtying your fingers with?â
âNothing. I told you.â But Jordan still refused to look at him.
Sarmillion put an arm around his shoulder. He admired anyone who had the courage to follow the dark and twisting labyrinth that led to that door. A person could get lost. And there were spiders.
âYou didnât touch it, did you?â he asked. âItâs enchanted, you know.â
âEnchanted?â Jordan said and pulled away.
âYour maid forgot to mention that, I suppose,â said Sarmillion. âScullery maids know their nutty-buns, may the Great Light shine upon âem, but when it comes to enchantments their only education is whatever they learned on their granniesâ laps. Once long ago Master Mimosa touched that door, Iâll have you know, and two weeks later his great uncle dropped dead of a heart attack. Iâm telling you, itâs a hazard. It should never have been put there, but thereâs not a thing anyone can do about it now.â He grunted. âNext youâll be telling me you opened the blasted thing.â
They walked in strained silence for another minute and then the boy asked, âDoes anyone know what those runes say on the outside of the door?â
âIndeed,â said Sarmillion. âThey say, âThis door does not open for fools, rascals or teenaged boys. Period. All fools, rascals and teenaged boys who find themselves in front of this door should take themselves home immediately and douse themselves in cold water and then perform ten years of penance for their stupidity.ââ
âIt doesnât really say that,â said Jordan.
âI forgot, youâre wise beyond your years,â said Sarmillion with a good-natured chuckle. âNo, it doesnât say that. But Iâm under palace oath to keep certain secrets.â Like the secret of the Book of What Is, for example. The thought came unbidden, and he was quick to stuff it back down where it would keep quiet. âIn Arrabelâs time there was always a Landguard posted at the entrance to that hallway. You wouldnât have gotten within a hundred feet of that door.â
âWhy? Whatâs behind it thatâs so dangerous?â
Sarmillion wagged a finger at him. âI told you, Iâm sworn to secrecy, loyal to Arrabel and all that.â He cringed inwardly, for a memory had come to him all at once, the way bad ones always do, as if theyâve been called by one of those high-pitched whistles only dogs can hear. It had all been foretold, his treason, long ago and when it had had little meaning, by Willa â in the days when sheâd still been a seer.
Heâd been fifteen, Jordanâs age now, and his father had taken him to her to determine if he might truly have the writerâs gift of tale-spinning. Willa had taken one look at him, just one, and declared, âLiar! Traitor!â which had scared the fur off Sarmillionâs teenaged
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