♦ ♦ ♦
Having avoided a possible confrontation with the future renegade star, the companions realized that there would be no way to locate Samaranth without asking for help. They tried asking some of the passing angels, all of whom responded politely as soon as they noticed Charles, but waved the question away as basically meaningless the moment Samaranth’s name was mentioned.
“I thought he was the most respected creature in the Archipelago,” Edmund said, “and everyone we’ve approached has mentioned his being among the oldest angels here. So why are they so quick to dismiss him as irrelevant?”
“It’s the way of the world,” Charles lamented. “Youth never trusts or respects the wisdom of age and experience until they are aged and experienced themselves, and by then, it’s usually too late.”
“Not every culture is like that, surely,” said Edmund. “I was raised to respect my elders.”
“So was I,” said Rose.
“The exceptions that prove the rule,” Charles said. “Let’s go ask that fellow, there.”
He was indicating a tall, finely dressed man who was writing with a stylus on parchment instead of using one of the tablets the angels all seemed to carry.
“Why him?” asked Rose.
Charles shrugged. “It’s just something about his countenance.”
The man listened politely as they explained whom they were seeking, and as opposed to the angels’ deference to Charles the Seraphim, seemed more taken by Rose.
“Yes, I can help you,” he said when they’d finished. He turned and took a few steps into the street. “There,” he said, pointing at a broad, squat building in the distance. “All the minor guilds are ensconced there, in the Library. It keeps them out of the way of all the others, who are certain they are doing more important work.”
Charles caught the hint of derision in the man’s voice and couldn’t help himself. “What work do you believe is more important?”
The man smiled wryly. “You have the countenance of a Seraphim but the manner of a scholar. The work of a scholar is to seek after knowledge—and there is always something new to learn.”
He turned to Rose, more serious now. “The summit is coming to an end soon, and changes will be coming. Find your minor angel, and then leave. The City of Jade may not be as welcoming to you tonight as it was to you today.”
The man spun on his heel and began to walk away. “Good luck to you, scholars,” he called back. “Hermes Trismegistus wishes you well.”
♦ ♦ ♦
The Library was easy enough to get to, but impossibly large, which required a few more inquiries. Eventually the companions were directed to what was essentially the basement, where a large door separated in the center and slid open at Rose’s touch.
“Come in, if you must,” said a thin tenor voice, “but please make haste. I have a full schedule of Naming today, and a thousand and one things must be recorded for the book if I’m to be allowed into the summit.”
The companions entered the vasty, tall room and gasped at the size of it. They knew that it was a lower level in the Library, but to all appearances it seemed nearly endless inside, and there was no ceiling, save for distant abstract geometric shapes set among a field of twinkling lights.
“Yes, yes,” the voice said again, “it is small and rather cramped—the Guild keeps all its unfinished concepts here, and they take up more room than you’d think—but there’s space enough for me to do my work, and that suffices.”
The speaker was sitting on a dais at the center of the room, working on one of the tablets all the angels seemed to carry. That much was not a surprise. What was a surprise was that Nix had described the angel before them as being one of the oldest among all those in the city—but the face that peered sideways at them as they approached was that of a young man, barely out of school.
He blew a wayward strand of reddish hair out of his face and scowled at the visitors. “Well? Are you going to tell me what business you bring, or do I have to Un-Name you to get your attention?”
“Well,” said Charles, “that sure sounds like Samaranth.”
“Of course,” the young man said primly. “I am he. I am Samaranth. Who,” he added, eyes glittering, “are you?”
♦ ♦ ♦
The companions stared at the angel with undisguised shock. This was not what they’d expected to see, and this small, twitchy, suspicious, childlike creature bore almost no resemblance to the great, regal Dragon they had known. No resemblance, save for . . .
“His eyes,” Laura Glue said softly. “He has Samaranth’s eyes.”