The Destruction of the Books Read Free

be with you. Kelloch’s Harbor is not a safe place. This place is not a town built on trade. It’s a waterhole filled with cutthroats and scoundrels.” Juhg drummed his fingers on the leaning tabletop. Sometimes the young sailor chose to be very dense about inferred dialogue. Juhg felt uncomfortable with some direct conversations circumstances had forced him to have with his friend and fellow investor.
    “Oh.”
    “And I cannot run nearly as fast as you can.”
    “I would stand an’ fight at your side till the bitter end,” Raisho promised. “I wouldn’t leave ye there.”
    Juhg knew that Raisho meant what he said. Unfortunately, it would only mean the doom of us both. The dweller sighed, one of the acts that everyone accused dwellers of holding in common, a trait that all nondwellers lamented. Only dwellers, general opinion said, could issue such deeply piteous and heartfelt sighs.
    The young sailor was an accomplished swordsman and practiced his chosen craft, in addition to his sailing, every chance he got. Upon occasion when events had forced Raisho to use his martial skills in Windchaser ’s defense against pirates or goblin ships, Juhg had complimented the young sailor on his bravery. Raisho had always said that Juhg was the bravest person he had ever known: a dweller who had left—by choice—the sequestered safety of Greydawn Moors, a Librarian who had chosen to voyage back out into the rough-and-tumble world he’d barely escaped from.
    The serving wench stood at Raisho’s side and glanced at him demurely. “And what would you be after having, milord?”
    “Milord!” Raisho laughed merrily and slapped his thigh.
    The serving wench reddened at the young sailor’s loud reaction. Others in the tavern turned to look, but found that no violence was in the offing and quickly grew bored enough to return to their cups and their conversations.
    Juhg felt sorry for the serving girl. Raisho meant nothing by his outburst, but she did not know him and did not know that.
    “Raisho,” Juhg said. “Please be mindful of her time. The tavern is full and she is very busy.” He didn’t want an angry seaman ready to fight them over the attentions of the serving wench.
    Juhg tried not to let the reaction bother him. Here on the mainland, away from the safety of Greydawn Moors, most humans didn’t respect dwellers. Most humans thought of dwellers, if they thought of them at all, primarily as a cheap labor source or vermin. The goblins often referred to dwellers simply as eaters, and talked of them as charitably as they would of a locust invasion.
    Dweller villages found outside the few cities and towns that dotted the coastlines fell hard to the goblin slavers. Once the goblins clapped every captured dweller into chains, the goblins burned the villages as though they were lice-infested nests. Even if a slave escaped, there was no home to return to.
    “I’ll have ale,” Raisho told the serving wench. “Quickly now, an’ plenty of it. I’ve got me a powerful thirst.” He glanced at Juhg. “What will ye have?”
    “Chulotzberry tea,” Juhg said. “Please.”
    “Of course, milords.” The serving wench ducked her head.
    “Thank you,” Juhg called after her. A human serving him still struck him as strange. At the Great Library, dwellers still handled the menial tasks. But many humans who came to the Vault of All Known Knowledge for answers to questions had treated him as an equal.
    In fact, he was even on speaking terms with the Grandmagister’s wizard friend Craugh. And Craugh, wizard of no little repute and an enigmatic history, claimed few as friends. His wizardly powers, town gossips said, sometimes increased the population of toads when someone irritated him past the point of tolerance.
    “So what brings ye here?” Raisho asked, indicating the tavern with an expansive wave. “If ye’d wanted to be safe, ye’d have stayed aboard Windchaser. ”
    “I wanted to feel firm land beneath my feet again,”