A Scribe is Sought

[Amanita Vernia]

An Arian scribe is found in the stacks of Schendi

Amanita was in the solarium when Arculeius found her, sending for him and then playing a short game of hide and seek, but the man would soon be sent on another mission. Amanita's back was to him as she cradled the journal in her arms. It was the last thing her father had been working on before his death... trying to uncode it's mystery. Ama learned this after scouring his office, but there were parts she couldn't read. A hand was felt on her shoulder, the Sandalwood complexion fingers would give him away, but she didn't even need to look to know it was the quiet guardian. More than just a hired hand, Arculeius served as faithfully as his father had, he was one of the few she trusted. "I need you to find a scribe... one that can translate this script." She had already torn one of the pages out, it held little importance compared to those that spoke of Nyoka... anyone from Schendi would know be able to guess what treasure that word hinted to, though it also meant snake or the name of a river, even without reading the surrounding text... Shaba wasn't writing about a waterway. She handed him the page, a subtle brush of her palm given before the hand fell back. "If they can read this, then make arrangements for them to come to the house. Discretion, is as always, importance."

Nights had been long for the old Scribe, days even longer and more tedious than she would ever enjoy to admit. Since her ... return to her station, it was difficult to flow back into the steady way of life without finding some kinks within the progress. Willholm was a loving companion, he ensured that her secret never got out, that she had once been a branded slave. No one knew that the high Scribe had fallen so far, and it was intended to be kept that way. He was always a soft hearted individual, but firm. His childhood love for her hadn't changed, nor would it. Unfortunately, nor did it for her. She loved him as a friend, nothing more, using the companionship as a safety net. It was one of the best ways to keep from the collar within the 'glorious' city of Ar. For years she became a recluse, and until recently she didn't bother leaving her towers to return to her old job of translating for historic programs. The library was silent, often was when the bright rays of the sun fell and the trio sisters were high in the blackened sky. And there she found solace, gloved fingers stained black with ink as she swept them over one test, only to scroll down the contents in a separate book. A moment's pause and she used her pinky to scratch the side of her nose, tucking beneath the glasses before they fell again to where the veils' edge laid. Shrouded within several layers of cascading blue, it was only her verdant eyes and the swarthy flesh around them that could be seen.

Arculeius left the house with his assignment, the page tucked securely in his vest without a glance. Amanita knew without asking that it wasn't something he could read, even if he had been born in one of the inland villages, the caramel colored man could not read or write in any dialect. He was sharp, just illiterate like most goreans. Walking bare foot along the streets, turning from moist dirt to cobble stone as he neared the city, the library was found. It was one place in Schendi the man had never had a reason to set foot in, his hand patted the outside of his vest, feeling the paper near his breast, before he climbed the steps of the large building and went inside. A man sitting at a large, circular table, looked at him with a skeptical puffed brow, but Arculeius moved on, appearing to know where he was going. He didn't, but that was beside the point. He roamed through the stacks with such a serious expression, none dared to stopped him. They didn't need to know he had no idea what the words written across each spine or across the pages meant. Before long he had come into an empty section of the library, one reserved for scribes. None seemed to tell him that, a few moving on from their places as he looked them over, judging who he'd ask... who he could trust. Alone, she was spotted, veils covering what they did, leaving his view limited. Maybe it was the glasses that he found appealing.... trustworthy. He pulled the page from his pocket and approached. Laying it just to the right of her book. "Read it." The voice was soft, but there wasn't a question in it, he wasn't asking her, but ordering as if she already worked for him. Amanita knew when sending Arculeius that he would return with someone qualified, even if his means of doing so were harsh.
 <br> Tucking her fingers again beneath the glasses, she kneaded the bridge of her nose slowly and released a pent breath as she replayed the conversation within her mind. He was adamant about her coming here, going some place so far away from home.  But she had to get away.  He was just too stifling.  She assured him that she would be fine, and that once she completed this job she'd be coming home.  Safe to say she was taking her own sweet time in the archaic translations.  Picking up the marking stick again she glanced from one book to the other before her attention was distracted by the page that was settled near the tome, and the masculine voice requesting - no, demanding - her to read it.  Lifting her fingers from the tome, she set them upon the parchment and slid them back to him, then delicately her hand was brought to the old pages again.  "With all due respect; if you wish my time, you will have to wait, Sir.  I am afraid I am terribly busy right now," she commented dully, her attention far from the stranger that was standing nearby.
 <br> His voice didn't lift any more than it had the first time he said those two words, in fact, he repeated them in the exact same manner. "Read it..." The only difference was his stance, he leaned foward, his hand lifting the page and setting it on top of the text she was already transcribing. "if you can't... your time makes no difference." He added, leaving out the respect. He just kept his hand flat against the page waiting to see if she could or if any guards remove him from the place. He didn't exactly have the same charm or tact as Thaddaius, the fact that Amanita gave him this task instead of the thief only proved that she didn't trust him as much. Paranoia was her best enemy. Arculeius leaned forward , but he didn't touch the robed woman, not yet.

A low and long suffering sigh passed over her lips, doing nothing to rustle the heavy veils that covered her face, seven in all.  It was stifling to wear so much clothing within Schendi, but as long as she looked over weight, people would generally keep away from her.  Namely men.  If it wasn't her unknown appearance, it was the cold and calculating manner; she wasn't deemed frigid for no reason.  Finally the pale jade lifted, settling upon the man with as much interest as one would gain watching a goldfish do laps in a bowl.  "As much as I would like to indulge within something different," she began, a chilling impassiveness drawing to her voice.  "I am upon a deadline. Frivolous activities are something I do not have time for.  I would be much obliged to tend to this matter upon the morn.  And I shall add, the more you interrupt me, the longer it will take for me to get to you. Now, if you do not mind..."

One long breath left his nostrils as he pulled the crumpled page away and looked around the room. There weren't many other prospects left, a man against the right wall, buried in books, but his pasty skin told Arucleius that he probably wouldn't know the dialect. There was another man, in well kept robes, darker skin, but the way his eyes kept glancing to the sides, Arculeius knew he couldn't trust him and he was pretty sure the woman could read what he was shoving in her face, or she would of tried getting rid of him that way. "Be finished with that by tomorrow, I will be back then." Again he didn't ask, but ordered her as if she already worked for him and the merchant. Backing away from the table he paused to make sure she understood he was quite serious. Then began to move out the way he had come considering his mission halfway complete.

Men.. Beneath the veils she pressed her lips thinly then gave an unfeminine grunt.  Shaking her head gently she picked up the parchment to place it aside, giving it only a glance before she returned to her translations.  Pausing a moment she slid the parchment over to her, her attention caught by the different dialect.  It wasn't something commonly seen within these parts. "Hold, Sir," she spoke up slightly, enough where he could hear her, but not where she'd disturb anyone else that might be in the library.  Skimming over the page slowly she shifted back against her heels then slid a glance toward his retreating back.  Shifting her shoulders in a roll to get rid of the hunching tension she tipped her chin up, wincing faintly at the ache in her neck. She had been leaning over for far too long.

It wasn't often that Arculeius was addressed as Sir, but he kept in small circles, mostly escorting Amanita, though he tended to fall back in shadows. He paused his feet, but didn't turn back right away. He listened. To the grunt she let go, the parchment moving under her hands and then the sound ofa kink in her neck as she lifted her head. He wet his lips before finally turning. Nothing spoken, his dark brow arched as he waited for her to continue. Slow started to bring him closer, knowing what she said might need to be whispered even softer that the usual library voice.

[Amanita Vernia]

She didn't look up at him as he made his way closer, but continued reading the parchment with mild curiosity, veiling the true weight of it behind a placid facade.  Finally, she lifted her head to look upon him with a raised brow - though the movement was hidden under the band of blue.  "Where did you get this?"  She questioned quietly, her alto voice dropping, a whisper that wouldn't have been heard by those around her. None of the men seemed to be her guards, some stood here and there while reading over things.  One of them was a guard, though, paid to protect, but remain nonchalant in his reading. In fact, it was that very same pasty fleshed individual that he had regarded before approaching.

He didn't need to turn his eyes to see the man approaching, he could hear him as well as catch the reflection of someone moving from her glasses. This kept him from answering her question, though he might of danced around it even if they were not being watched. "My employer." He said, not speaking her name, even if the man had only been with the merchant for a year, he knew better than dropping her name, especially in this city. "There are more..." he added. He knew the page was only asmall piece of the puzzel, nothing that she could learn from it would do any good without the others. The reason he was told to bring the scribe back to the house, when he was sure she could be bought. His arms lifted to cross over his chest looking at the lady in blue, never looking to the male scribe. "I can take you, but just you."
 <br> "I see.."  Lowering the parchment she slid it over the table and lifted her marking stick again.  Using a gloved knuckle, she pressed her glasses up and looked at him dubiously before her eyes shifted a moment to the nearby 'scribe.'  Then her gaze drifted back to him.  "Surely you must think I am daft to go unaccompanied with a man any where."  Truth be told, she shouldn't even be speaking with him.  Women down here weren't as leery as making themselves some off in a certain way.  Though the risk was higher when it came to being carried away by a fellow citymate.  Sliding the tome closer to her, she settled the marker between the pages and closed it carefully.  It looked pretty old and ready to come apart at the seams.  The other, newer, book was treated in kind to be placed upon the old one.

Her deadline cut short as she closed the tome, just the sound of it's spine cracking as she shut it revealed its age. He kept his eyes steady on her, watching for some added expression through that small sliver of uncovered flesh, within her eyes. His own lowered for an Ihn before she spoke. "If you were daft, you would be of no use." He looked at the man then, examining him fully from the blue cloth he was covered by to the tips of his fingers. They were worn, but not from writing the way a scribe's hands would be, no sign of ink stains and men did not wear gloves. He was in disguise. He turned back to the lady then after he reassessed. "We only have use for one scribe, but you may bring your guard. You also have my word your position will not be compromised." His words indicated he planned on seeing to her safety himself, nothing sly to his tone, of the two Amanita employed, he was the one to be trusted.

Just why a warrior would dress like a scribe was anyone's guess.  But there he was, apparently bare of sword - but that didn't mean bare of weapon - casually reading over a book while he listened to the two of them speak.  She looked at him plainly, nothing settled within her eyes save for a cool regard.  His word was as good as false gold.  A pretty thing to consider, but worthess.  Gathering the books she slid them into her satchel, and placing it over her shoulder, stiff robes rustled as she pressed to a stand.  No shape seen at all, the curtains did well in keeping her fully concealed.  She stepped from behind the table, shifting the strap as she drew closer.  She was no short woman, that was for sure.  Then again, she could be wearing elevator shoes.  The other 'scribe' put up the book and leaned away from the counter to follow them a few feet away.  "Take me to your employer, then."

False gold was fitting, they were after an imaginary treasure,though neither one of them knew such. Arculeius was trusted, but not given all the information. He didn't ask either. Like his father, who served as a guard to the merchant, who in fact died doing so, he was a quiet man. His head shaven as well as his face, always kept neat, the burlap colored tunic kept his body in a uniform of dark browns, even his still was polished with a dark coating to keep off reflections. He was also bare a warriars sword, but at his left side a scimitar hung. Uncrossing his arms and seeing the woman was ready to follow, as well as the fake scribe, he lead the three if them from the library. At the bottom of the steps he flipped a coin to a young boy who ran into the street to stop the next unoccupied cart. These were often pulled by male slaves, used by the wealthy to get to one end of the city to another without breaking a sweat. The humid weather usually making that impossible for people just standing. The first cart stopped and Arculeius motioned for the scribe to take it. The guard would get the second and Arculeius would take the third. All given the same destination and following closely together. Arculeius had walked from the house that set on the outskirts of the city, to the library, but he didn't expect a woman to do so, escpeically one of high caste. When they stopped before the large estate, still in ruins with overgrowth and decay, Arculeius moved towards the gate and front entrance expecting the two to follow.

[Amanita Vernia]

Taking the assistance of her guard as she climbed into the cart, she tucked her hands beneath her, pressing the robes taut to the backs of her legs before lowering to a sit. During the ride she remained silent, looking over her surroundings as they made their way to their next destination. When they stopped before the building, she leaned forward slightly, then climbed from the cart herself. She didn't need the help, but the guard often wanted to make himself useful. Following behind the shaved man, she shifted her satchel upon her shoulder, holding it tightly to her side. Sure, she was a bit nervous, but didn't let it be seen within her body language. With all those robes on, it wasn't as if it could be seen anyway.

It might seem like Arculeius was leading her into a snake pit, the unknown as it was, employer he spoke of. The scribe might of expected a man, the house lacked any signs of the feminine from it's outer core. It lacked many things, but under the growth of vines and moss there were still a few patches of white that told of it's once extravagant design. A merchant city like Schendi had many older homes, those closest to the jungle's edge were build like small fortresses, gates and high walls, no windows too close to the ground. The builders thought not only of grandeur, but of  invasion when they made the house. Once inside the evidence of a renovation were present. Slaves worked on a lowered chandler, polish in their hands and elbow grease used to get it back to the original shine,  pausing in their work only for a second to bow their heads to the three. Arculeius continued to lead, not stopping, though as he passed one of the hired guards he exchanged a few words, "Tell the merchant I retrieved what she asked for, we'll be in the main sitting room." Which they soon moved into. A few couches rested near the wall, but an arrangement of pillows made up most the seating with a focus on an ornately carved mantel at the opposite end of the room. Nothing said to the scribe or her guard, though he did offer his hand out to direct them into the room ahead of himself.

Every little detail she could catch was studied, filing away this and that as she traveled along. For a moment the chandelier had captured her attention, remembering the one her parents had within their large manor. For a moment a smile formed upon her lips beneath the veils, then it faded away as she turned her attention to the stranger. A lot less antsy as she, the guard kept close, and also maintained his silence. The gesture drew them from one room to the next, and she approached a set of cushions where she could lower in a demure kneel. Placing the satchel aside she glanced briefly to her guard, then over to the quiet man. It was almost unnerving, yet at the same time.. she was glad he wasn't trying to make idle conversation. Folding gloved hands upon her lap she lifted her chin, sliding her gaze over the innards of the room before expectantly focusing upon the entrances.

Once the two were seated, Arculeius also lowered into a cross-legged position with his back kept as straight as it had been while standing. He had no reason to converse, the merchant was better at warming a room, though in silence one could see his jaw tighten now and then like he was chewing at something. Ehns crept by slowly allowing the scribe even more time to examine the room. The carved mantle swirled like the waves of the ocean, but a closer glance one could see the paint chipping and the wood splitting in several places. The humidity of the region took it's toll on everything, inside and out, of the home. The curtains hung to block out the radiant sunrays, they appeared to be new as well as the pillows. The couches, faded some, did not. In her own time, once she received the message, Amanita made her entrance. First impressions were not a thing to be wasted, thus she made hers after changing into a less casual robe, one fit for a well-to-do merchant. Gold accented the hems  covering her feet and at the cuff. Her twin braids were held up by pins, though they fastened no veil. In her own home she could afford to be more bold and took the liberty.  Halfway into the room, smile already fastened, she gave a dramatic sigh. "Tal... and I apologize for keeping you waiting." A few more steps brought her into the circle. Arculeius had risen to his feet when he noticed coming in, no words exchanged between them but with a subtle hint she was told which of the two fashioned scribes was the real one before her attention turned to the woman. "I take it you can translate, but I wonder if you can be trusted. How much does discretion cost from a scribe?" Just like most merchants, Amanita believed there was usually a price to be had on every commodity, the scribe's work was no different than a basket of vulo eggs, though, likely more expensive.