The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 14
The doors opened up into one of the house’s turrets, stretching up above them to dizzying heights, until the roof vanished into shadow. Covering the walls as far as Darrick could see were niches, little cubbyholes containing dozens of scrolls each, with ladders leading from balcony to balcony to provide access. Darrick almost stumbled as he craned his neck back to try to follow the levels upward, feeling a rush of vertigo as the tower seemed to spin around him, and Abby had to hold him upright until he regained his footing. He lowered his head to the shelves at eye level, and reached out a hand to pick out one of the scrolls lying there. Just at the last second, he realized his presumption, and looked over at Abby; she nodded a tacit permission, her face glowing with the excitement of sharing her passion, and he carefully drew the scroll out from its place. He had expected the roll of parchment to be brittle, fragile, so that he would have to be careful to keep it from falling apart at his touch; instead, he was startled to find it to be supple and completely intact, like new. Setting it on a nearby table, he unrolled it; inside, the scroll was covered with an unfamiliar runic script, written in vertical columns closely spaced. Darrick stared at the script for a minute, wondering if – like the spoken Atlantean language – they would prove to be so natural to his mind that he would be able to understand them instinctually. After a few disappointed moments, he asked Abby about it.
“Can you read this?” he asked, tracing a line of runes with his index finger. Abby nodded.
“I was taught to read Atlantean before I learned how to read English,” she said. “That should tell you something about my parents’ priorities. This is a history, so that should interest you, something about some old royal dynasty or another. I never could keep all of them straight.” She looked abashed. “Maybe I shouldn’t reveal that to my historian future husband.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Darrick hastened to reassure her. “A lot of those ancient histories are pretty boring, just lists of king after king and their public works projects. The only people who memorize all of them are the ones who specialize in that particular period.”
“Good to know my deficiencies aren’t too disappointing to you. Anyway . . .” she rolled out a different section of the scroll, “that appears to be all that’s here. Believe me, there’s much more interesting stuff here.” She rolled the scroll back up and replaced it. “This is the Great Library. Everything here was written in Atlantis before the Cataclysm, and was saved when it sank.” Darrick’s eyes widened.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he said as he stared back up into the tower. “You mean every scroll here is thousands . . .”
“Of years old, yes,” she said, obviously pleased at his awed reaction. “At least. We don’t know what was done to preserve them; more of that ancient knowledge we’ve lost. And this is only a small fraction of what was left behind to sink.” Her smile was sad, and her voice softened. “There are scrolls here that talk about paintings, statues, murals . . . works of art that sound phenomenal and that no one will ever have the chance to see. Can you imagine? All those artists, working for immortality, to make the world just a little bit more beautiful, and we’ll never know what they did.” She wrapped herself in her arms, looking chilled, and Darrick put his arm around her. “I don’t mean to bring down the mood. I love this place, but sometimes the weight of it all gets to me.”
“I understand,” Darrick reassured her. “I don’t like the idea of history being lost, either. Has anyone ever thought of translating all of this, or maybe digitizing it in case some other disaster hit?”
“The thought had occurred to me,” said a booming voice from behind them. Abby and Darrick both jumped as one and turned, Abby hastily pulling a few inches away as Richard Dawson walked into the room through the same double doors they had used a few moments before.
“Your Reverence,” Abby said, bowing, her face red, looking like a child caught in something faintly naughty.
“My Lord,” Richard said, bowing to Darrick. “My Lady Betrothed,” he addressed Abby, who straightened further at the title, her expression proud though still a bit guilty. Darrick wasn’t sure how to feel about the man; other than at the Presentation, when his attention had been elsewhere, he had not seen Richard since he had left him and his parents to meddle with the memory of their driver, and Darrick now felt that memory to still be very fresh. Neither Richard nor Abby seem to share his uncertainties, though, as Richard greeted them with a grandfatherly smile.
“Oh, there’s no need to jump like that,” Richard said with a wave of his hand. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you here. I doubt there’s any married couple here who didn’t sneak off together after their Presentation. My wife and I certainly did.” His expression became wry. “Though the Library wasn’t our first choice of destination, I must say.” Abby looked as though she wanted to sink into her shoes, and Darrick was certain that Richard must have guessed what had gone on before, now if not before.
“Well . . . I . . . um . . .” Abby stumbled in an uncharacteristic loss for words.
“Abby wanted to show me one of her favorite places as a kid,” Darrick jumped in, earning a grateful look from his betrothed. “We were hoping we would have the place to ourselves.” Darrick tried not to let his annoyance at the intrusion – arising, he had to admit to himself, as much from who had done the interrupting as from the act itself – show too much; he must not have succeeded as much as he had hoped, for Abby gave him a surprised glance. If Richard caught on, though, he paid it no mind, walking past them and opening a book lying on a pedestal near the center of the room.
“Oh, I’m afraid that particular hope was doomed to disappointment,” he said, absently flipping through the massive tome. “I spend most of my nights or mornings here now, usually with Alfred (“That’s his son,” Abby whispered), trying to learn as much as we can. As for your question about computerizing the Library, Darrick, we’ve thought about it, but I really don’t think it would work.” He found what he was looking for in the book and started to pull himself up one of the ladder. “These scrolls aren’t like normal books; they seem to respond to the need of the reader. If you take a look at the index–” he waved at the book he had just left as he stepped from the ladder onto a balcony one level up, counting niches as he walked along – “you’ll see that each cubbyhole has far more scrolls listed for it than they could really hold, and yet, if you place your hand inside the proper one, somehow you’ll pull out the one you were looking for.” Matching word to deed, he pulled out a scroll and waved it at them, then began his descent. Once he reached the ground, he walked over to their table and proceeded to unroll his prize. “Furthermore, there have been many times I have been reading a scroll I’ve gone over many times before, only to find a line or passage I’ve never seen before, which will nonetheless be particularly apropos to my particular situation.” Looking up from his reading, he smiled knowingly at Darrick, an expression to paternal that Darrick felt some twinges of guilt over his suspicions of the man. Not enough guilt for him to completely retract them, however. “I don’t think a computer scanner could pick up on all that. So, no, I don’t think computerizing the library would be a prudent or respectful move.” With that, he turned his attention fully to the volume he had selected. Abby, meanwhile, was leading Darrick out of the Library.
As soon as the doors closed behind them, Abby whirled on Darrick, eyes flashing. Darrick took a startled step back, unaccustomed to seeing anger in those eyes.
“That was astonishingly rude,” she said, arms now crossed over her chest. Darrick felt almost nauseated at the idea of her being angry or disappointed in him, but he couldn’t help but defend himself. Maybe she doesn’t know.
“I didn’t mean to be rude, exactly,” he said, already feeling a bit weak in his argument, “but that man bothers me. I didn’t want him around, though I didn’t want to make it that obvious.” Now Abby looked confused as well as angry.
“Richard Dawson?” she asked. “What could possibly bother you about him? He’s one of the nicest men I know. He was one of my teachers, you know, ever since I was little.”
“I can tell that he’s ‘nice’,” Darrick said. “But I saw him wipe a man’s memory not five minutes after we arrived here, with no more thought than if he were shooing away a fly.”
“You mean the driver we sent? That’s what you’re worried about?”
“Of course!” Darrick was shocked he even had to explain. “He gave me some line afterwords about how it was necessary, and how the guy wouldn’t be hurt at all and that it probably wouldn’t be any different for him than any other day on the job, but I can’t see that as an okay thing to do. And I don’t think I can be comfortable around someone who does it, especially not that casually.” The thought that Abby might be just as casual about it made Darrick almost ill.
“I understand your feelings, Darrick,” she said after a small pause. “And you might be right that he was a bit hasty in using his power; I told you Atlanteans are paranoid, even the best of us. And, Darrick, Richard really is among the best of us. He’s a good man, one of the best I’ve ever known.”
“How can you call him that when you don’t agree with what he did?” Abby took his hands in her own, her look loving.
“Sometimes even good people can do questionable things, Darrick. That doesn’t mean that they stop being good people, just that they make mistakes. I’m sure you’ve done things you’re not too proud of.” Darrick didn’t answer, but Vivian’s face flashed across his mind, and he found he could not quite meet Abby’s eyes. She must have noticed, for she moved back into his line of sight before she went on. "If we waited to find a perfect person to admire, we’d never find anyone. One thing I learned very quickly in San Francisco is that everyone is subject to the flaws and the virtues of their culture. There were people I met there who I knew were good, noble people, but they did things that horrified the Atlantean in me. Just like I can know Richard is the best of men, even though he does things that appall your own sensibilities. And I know you to be a good man as well. So try not to judge us too harshly.” She squeezed his hands and looked at him questioningly. Darrick took a few moments to put together his response, not certain of what to say.
“I see what you’re saying, and I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “But I can only judge people by their actions. I know good men can do bad things, but at what point does a good man doing bad things turn into just a bad man?” He held up his hand to forestall her response. “I’m not saying Richard is anywhere near that. I’m sorry for the way I acted. I think you’re right; he didn’t deserve it. But the cultural excuse doesn’t hold for everything. In the end, some things are just wrong.” Abby leaned upwards to give him a quick peck on the lips.
“I would not expect my future husband to believe anything less,” she said, her hand still on his cheek.
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 14
The doors opened up into one of the house’s turrets, stretching up above them to dizzying heights, until the roof vanished into shadow. Covering the walls as far as Darrick could see were niches, little cubbyholes containing dozens of scrolls each, with ladders leading from balcony to balcony to provide access. Darrick almost stumbled as he craned his neck back to try to follow the levels upward, feeling a rush of vertigo as the tower seemed to spin around him, and Abby had to hold him upright until he regained his footing. He lowered his head to the shelves at eye level, and reached out a hand to pick out one of the scrolls lying there. Just at the last second, he realized his presumption, and looked over at Abby; she nodded a tacit permission, her face glowing with the excitement of sharing her passion, and he carefully drew the scroll out from its place. He had expected the roll of parchment to be brittle, fragile, so that he would have to be careful to keep it from falling apart at his touch; instead, he was startled to find it to be supple and completely intact, like new. Setting it on a nearby table, he unrolled it; inside, the scroll was covered with an unfamiliar runic script, written in vertical columns closely spaced. Darrick stared at the script for a minute, wondering if – like the spoken Atlantean language – they would prove to be so natural to his mind that he would be able to understand them instinctually. After a few disappointed moments, he asked Abby about it.
“Can you read this?” he asked, tracing a line of runes with his index finger. Abby nodded.
“I was taught to read Atlantean before I learned how to read English,” she said. “That should tell you something about my parents’ priorities. This is a history, so that should interest you, something about some old royal dynasty or another. I never could keep all of them straight.” She looked abashed. “Maybe I shouldn’t reveal that to my historian future husband.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Darrick hastened to reassure her. “A lot of those ancient histories are pretty boring, just lists of king after king and their public works projects. The only people who memorize all of them are the ones who specialize in that particular period.”
“Good to know my deficiencies aren’t too disappointing to you. Anyway . . .” she rolled out a different section of the scroll, “that appears to be all that’s here. Believe me, there’s much more interesting stuff here.” She rolled the scroll back up and replaced it. “This is the Great Library. Everything here was written in Atlantis before the Cataclysm, and was saved when it sank.” Darrick’s eyes widened.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he said as he stared back up into the tower. “You mean every scroll here is thousands . . .”
“Of years old, yes,” she said, obviously pleased at his awed reaction. “At least. We don’t know what was done to preserve them; more of that ancient knowledge we’ve lost. And this is only a small fraction of what was left behind to sink.” Her smile was sad, and her voice softened. “There are scrolls here that talk about paintings, statues, murals . . . works of art that sound phenomenal and that no one will ever have the chance to see. Can you imagine? All those artists, working for immortality, to make the world just a little bit more beautiful, and we’ll never know what they did.” She wrapped herself in her arms, looking chilled, and Darrick put his arm around her. “I don’t mean to bring down the mood. I love this place, but sometimes the weight of it all gets to me.”
“I understand,” Darrick reassured her. “I don’t like the idea of history being lost, either. Has anyone ever thought of translating all of this, or maybe digitizing it in case some other disaster hit?”
“The thought had occurred to me,” said a booming voice from behind them. Abby and Darrick both jumped as one and turned, Abby hastily pulling a few inches away as Richard Dawson walked into the room through the same double doors they had used a few moments before.
“Your Reverence,” Abby said, bowing, her face red, looking like a child caught in something faintly naughty.
“My Lord,” Richard said, bowing to Darrick. “My Lady Betrothed,” he addressed Abby, who straightened further at the title, her expression proud though still a bit guilty. Darrick wasn’t sure how to feel about the man; other than at the Presentation, when his attention had been elsewhere, he had not seen Richard since he had left him and his parents to meddle with the memory of their driver, and Darrick now felt that memory to still be very fresh. Neither Richard nor Abby seem to share his uncertainties, though, as Richard greeted them with a grandfatherly smile.
“Oh, there’s no need to jump like that,” Richard said with a wave of his hand. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you here. I doubt there’s any married couple here who didn’t sneak off together after their Presentation. My wife and I certainly did.” His expression became wry. “Though the Library wasn’t our first choice of destination, I must say.” Abby looked as though she wanted to sink into her shoes, and Darrick was certain that Richard must have guessed what had gone on before, now if not before.
“Well . . . I . . . um . . .” Abby stumbled in an uncharacteristic loss for words.
“Abby wanted to show me one of her favorite places as a kid,” Darrick jumped in, earning a grateful look from his betrothed. “We were hoping we would have the place to ourselves.” Darrick tried not to let his annoyance at the intrusion – arising, he had to admit to himself, as much from who had done the interrupting as from the act itself – show too much; he must not have succeeded as much as he had hoped, for Abby gave him a surprised glance. If Richard caught on, though, he paid it no mind, walking past them and opening a book lying on a pedestal near the center of the room.
“Oh, I’m afraid that particular hope was doomed to disappointment,” he said, absently flipping through the massive tome. “I spend most of my nights or mornings here now, usually with Alfred (“That’s his son,” Abby whispered), trying to learn as much as we can. As for your question about computerizing the Library, Darrick, we’ve thought about it, but I really don’t think it would work.” He found what he was looking for in the book and started to pull himself up one of the ladder. “These scrolls aren’t like normal books; they seem to respond to the need of the reader. If you take a look at the index–” he waved at the book he had just left as he stepped from the ladder onto a balcony one level up, counting niches as he walked along – “you’ll see that each cubbyhole has far more scrolls listed for it than they could really hold, and yet, if you place your hand inside the proper one, somehow you’ll pull out the one you were looking for.” Matching word to deed, he pulled out a scroll and waved it at them, then began his descent. Once he reached the ground, he walked over to their table and proceeded to unroll his prize. “Furthermore, there have been many times I have been reading a scroll I’ve gone over many times before, only to find a line or passage I’ve never seen before, which will nonetheless be particularly apropos to my particular situation.” Looking up from his reading, he smiled knowingly at Darrick, an expression to paternal that Darrick felt some twinges of guilt over his suspicions of the man. Not enough guilt for him to completely retract them, however. “I don’t think a computer scanner could pick up on all that. So, no, I don’t think computerizing the library would be a prudent or respectful move.” With that, he turned his attention fully to the volume he had selected. Abby, meanwhile, was leading Darrick out of the Library.
As soon as the doors closed behind them, Abby whirled on Darrick, eyes flashing. Darrick took a startled step back, unaccustomed to seeing anger in those eyes.
“That was astonishingly rude,” she said, arms now crossed over her chest. Darrick felt almost nauseated at the idea of her being angry or disappointed in him, but he couldn’t help but defend himself. Maybe she doesn’t know.
“I didn’t mean to be rude, exactly,” he said, already feeling a bit weak in his argument, “but that man bothers me. I didn’t want him around, though I didn’t want to make it that obvious.” Now Abby looked confused as well as angry.
“Richard Dawson?” she asked. “What could possibly bother you about him? He’s one of the nicest men I know. He was one of my teachers, you know, ever since I was little.”
“I can tell that he’s ‘nice’,” Darrick said. “But I saw him wipe a man’s memory not five minutes after we arrived here, with no more thought than if he were shooing away a fly.”
“You mean the driver we sent? That’s what you’re worried about?”
“Of course!” Darrick was shocked he even had to explain. “He gave me some line afterwords about how it was necessary, and how the guy wouldn’t be hurt at all and that it probably wouldn’t be any different for him than any other day on the job, but I can’t see that as an okay thing to do. And I don’t think I can be comfortable around someone who does it, especially not that casually.” The thought that Abby might be just as casual about it made Darrick almost ill.
“I understand your feelings, Darrick,” she said after a small pause. “And you might be right that he was a bit hasty in using his power; I told you Atlanteans are paranoid, even the best of us. And, Darrick, Richard really is among the best of us. He’s a good man, one of the best I’ve ever known.”
“How can you call him that when you don’t agree with what he did?” Abby took his hands in her own, her look loving.
“Sometimes even good people can do questionable things, Darrick. That doesn’t mean that they stop being good people, just that they make mistakes. I’m sure you’ve done things you’re not too proud of.” Darrick didn’t answer, but Vivian’s face flashed across his mind, and he found he could not quite meet Abby’s eyes. She must have noticed, for she moved back into his line of sight before she went on. "If we waited to find a perfect person to admire, we’d never find anyone. One thing I learned very quickly in San Francisco is that everyone is subject to the flaws and the virtues of their culture. There were people I met there who I knew were good, noble people, but they did things that horrified the Atlantean in me. Just like I can know Richard is the best of men, even though he does things that appall your own sensibilities. And I know you to be a good man as well. So try not to judge us too harshly.” She squeezed his hands and looked at him questioningly. Darrick took a few moments to put together his response, not certain of what to say.
“I see what you’re saying, and I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “But I can only judge people by their actions. I know good men can do bad things, but at what point does a good man doing bad things turn into just a bad man?” He held up his hand to forestall her response. “I’m not saying Richard is anywhere near that. I’m sorry for the way I acted. I think you’re right; he didn’t deserve it. But the cultural excuse doesn’t hold for everything. In the end, some things are just wrong.” Abby leaned upwards to give him a quick peck on the lips.
“I would not expect my future husband to believe anything less,” she said, her hand still on his cheek.
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