"So you are Lirael," said Filris. "And the healer tells me you fell down the stairs. But I do not think your throat was damaged by a scream. To be frank, I am surprised you are still alive. I know of no other Clayr your age-and few of any age-who could speak such a mark without being consumed by it."

"How?" croaked Lirael. "How can you tell?"

"Experience," replied Filris dryly. "I have worked in this Infirmary for over a hundred years. You are not the first Clayr I have seen suffer from the effects of attempting overambitious magic. Also, I am curious as to how you came by these other injuries at the same time, particularly since the gla.s.s dug out of your feet is pure crystal, and certainly not the same as that of the gla.s.ses from the Zally Fountain."

Lirael swallowed, but didn't speak. The silence returned. Filris waited patiently.

"I'll lose my job," whispered Lirael at last. "I'll be sent back to the Hall."

"No," said Filris, taking her hand. "What pa.s.ses between us here shall go no further."

"I've been stupid," said Lirael huskily. "I've let something out. Something dangerous-dangerous to everyone. All the Clayr."

"Hmph!" snorted Filris. "It can't be that bad if it hasn't done anything in the last four days. Besides, 'all the Clayr' can look after its collective self very well. It's you I'm concerned about. You are letting your fear come between you and getting better. Now start from the beginning, and tell me everything."

"You won't tell Kirrith? Or the Chief?" asked Lirael desperately. If Filris told anybody, they'd take her away from the Library, and then she'd have nothing. Nothing at all.

"If you mean Vancelle, no I won't," replied Filris. She patted Lirael's hand and said, "I won't tell anybody. Particularly since I am coming to the conclusion that I should have looked in on you long ago, Lirael. I had no notion you were more than a child . . . but tell me. What happened?"

Slowly, her voice so soft that Filris had to lean close, Lirael told her. About her birthday, about going up to the terrace, meeting Sanar and Ryelle, getting her job and how much it had helped her. She told Filris about waking the spells in the bracelet, about the sunburst and crescent-moon doors. Her voice grew softer still as she spoke of the horror in the gla.s.s-roofed coffin. The statuette of the dog. The struggle up the spiral and the plans she had made as her mind wandered. Her faked fall.

They spoke for more than an hour, Filris questioning, bringing out all Lirael's fears, hopes, and dreams. At the end of it, Lirael felt peaceful and no longer afraid, emptied of all the knotted pain and anguish that had filled her.

When Lirael finished talking, Filris asked to see the dog statuette. Lirael took the little stone dog from under her pillow and reluctantly handed it over. She had grown very attached to it, for it was the one thing that bought her some comfort, and she was afraid that Filris would take it away or tell her it must go back to the Library.

The old woman took the statuette in both hands, cupping it so only the snout was visible, thrusting out between her withered fingers. She looked at it for a long time, then gave a deep sigh and handed it back. Lirael took it, surprised by the warmth the stone had gained from the old woman's hands. Still, Filris didn't move or speak, till Lirael sat up straighter in bed, attracting her attention.

"I'm sorry, Lirael. I thank you for telling me the truth. And for showing me the dog statuette. It has been a long time coming, so long that I had thought I would be lost in the future, too mad to see it true."

"What do you mean?" asked Lirael uneasily.

"I saw your little dog long ago," explained Filris. "When the Sight still came clearly to me. It was the last vision that came to me whole and unbroken. I Saw an old, old woman, peering closely at a small stone dog clasped in her hands. It took me many years to realize that the old woman was myself."

"Did you See me, too?" asked Lirael.

"I Saw only myself," said Filris calmly. "What it means, I'm afraid, is that we shall not meet again. I would have liked to help you defeat the creature you have released, by counsel if not by deed, for I fear that it must be dealt with as soon as you can. Things of that ilk do not wake without reason, or without help of some kind. I would also like to see your dog-sending. I regret that I will not. Most of all I regret that I have not lived enough in the present these last fifteen years. I should have met you sooner, Lirael. It is a failing of the Clayr that we tend to forget individuals sometimes, and we ignore their troubles, knowing that all such things will pa.s.s."

"What do you mean?" asked Lirael. For the first time in her life, she'd felt comfortable talking to someone about herself, about her life. Now it seemed that this was only a tantalizing taste of the intimacy other people enjoyed, as if she were fated to never have what other Clayr took for granted.

"Every Clayr is given the gift to See some portent of her death, though not the death itself, for no human could bear that weight. Almost twenty years ago I Saw myself and your little dog, and in time I realized that this was the vision that foretold my final days."

"But I need you," said Lirael, weeping, throwing her arms around the slight figure. "I need someone! I can't keep going on my own!"

"You can and you will," said Filris fiercely. "Make your dog your companion, to be the friend you need. You must learn about the creature you released and defeat it! Explore the Library. Remember that while the Clayr can See the future, others make it. I feel that you will be a maker, not a seer. You must promise me that it will be so. Promise me that you will not give in. Promise me that you will never give up hope. Make your future, Lirael!"

"I'll try," whispered Lirael, feeling the fierce energy of Filris flowing into her. "I'll try."

Filris gripped her hand, harder than Lirael would have thought possible with those thin, ancient fingers. Then she kissed Lirael on the forehead, sending a tingle of energy through her Charter mark, right though her body and out the soles of her feet.

"I was never close to Arielle, or her mother," Filris said quietly. "Too much a Clayr, I suppose, too much in the future. I am glad I was not too late to speak to you. Goodbye, my great-great-granddaughter. Remember your promise!"

With that, she walked out of the ward, straight-backed and proud, so that someone who didn't know her age would never guess that she had worked in these wards for more than a hundred years, and lived half as long again.

Lirael never saw Filris again. She wept with many others at the Farewell in the Hall, forgetting her distaste for the new blue tunic, hardly noticing that she stood a full head higher than all the other children and many of the white-clad Clayr who had newly Awoken to their gift.

She was unsure how much she cried for Filris and how much she cried for herself, left alone again. It seemed to be her fate that she would have no close friends. Only countless cousins, and one aunt.

But Lirael didn't forget Filris's words and was back at work the next day, though her voice was still weak, and she had a slight limp. Within a week, she managed to secretly obtain copies of On the Making of Sendings On the Making of Sendings and and Superior Sendings in Seventy Days Superior Sendings in Seventy Days, as The Making and Mastery of Magical Beings The Making and Mastery of Magical Beings proved too difficult to spirit out of its locked case. The bestiaries proved troublesome too, as all the ones she could find were chained to their shelves. She dipped into them when no one was around, but without immediate success. Clearly, it would take some time to find out exactly what the creature was. proved too difficult to spirit out of its locked case. The bestiaries proved troublesome too, as all the ones she could find were chained to their shelves. She dipped into them when no one was around, but without immediate success. Clearly, it would take some time to find out exactly what the creature was.

Whenever she could, she pa.s.sed the sunburst door and felt for her spell, checking that her magic still remained, binding door, hinges, and lock into the surrounding stone. The fear always rose in her then, and sometimes she thought she smelled the corrosive tang of Free Magic, as if the monster stood on the other side of the door, separated from her only by the thin barrier of wood and spells.

Then she would remember Filris's words, and hurry back to her study to work on her dog-sending; or to the latest bestiary she'd found, to see if it might describe a woman-like creature with eyes of silver fire and the claws of a praying mantis, a creature of Free Magic, malice, and awful hunger.

Sometimes she would wake in the night, a nightmare of the door opening fading as she struggled out of sleep. She would have checked the door more often, but following the day of the Watch of Fifteen Sixty-Eight, the Chief Librarian had ordered that all librarians must go into the Old Levels only in pairs, so it was harder to sneak there and back. The Watch had not Seen anything conclusive, Lirael heard, but the Clayr were obviously worried about something close to home. The Library was not the only department to take precautionary measures: extra Rangers patrolled the glacier and the bridges, the steampipe crews also now worked in pairs, and many internal doors and corridors were closed and locked for the first time since the Restoration.

Lirael checked the door to the flower-field room forty-two times over seventy-three days before she found a bestiary that told her what the creature was. In those ten weeks of worry, study, and preparation, she had searched through eleven bestiaries and done most of the preliminary work needed to create her dog-sending.

In fact, it was the dog-sending that was mostly on her mind when she finally did find a mention of the monster. She was thinking about when she could cast the next lot of spells even as her hands opened the small, red-bound book that was simply t.i.tled Creatures by Nagy Creatures by Nagy. Flicking through the pages without expectation, her eye was caught by an engraving that showed exactly what she was looking for. The accompanying text made it clear that whoever Nagy was, or had been, he or she had encountered the same sort of monster Lirael had released from the gla.s.s-covered coffin.

It stands higher than a tall man, generally taking the shape of a comely woman, though its form is fluid. Often the Stilken will have great hooks or pincers in the place of forearms, which it uses with facility to seize its prey. Its mouth generally appears human till it opens, revealing double rows of teeth, as narrow and sharp as needles. These teeth may be of a bright silver, or black as night. The Stilken's eyes are also of silver, and burn with a strange fire.

Lirael shivered as she read this description, making the chain that held the book to the shelf rattle and clank. Quickly she looked around to see if anyone had heard and would come looking between the shelves. But there was no sound save her own breathing. This room was rarely used, housing a collection of obscure personal memoirs. Lirael had come here merely because Creatures by Nagy Creatures by Nagy was cross-indexed in the Reading Room as a bestiary of sorts. was cross-indexed in the Reading Room as a bestiary of sorts.

Stilling her hands, she read on, the words filling only part of her mind. The rest was struggling with the fact that, now that she had the knowledge she sought, she must face the Stilken and defeat it.

The Stilken is an elemental of Free Magic, and so it cannot be harmed by earthly materials, such as common steel. Nor can human flesh touch it, for its substance is inimical to life. A Stilken cannot be destroyed, except by Free Magic, at the hands of a sorcerer more powerful than itself.

Lirael stopped reading, nervously swallowed and read the last line again. "Cannot be destroyed, except by Free Magic," she read, over and over again. But she couldn't do any Free Magic. It wasn't allowed. Free Magic was too dangerous.

Unable to think of what she could do, Lirael read on-and breathed a long sigh of relief as the book continued.

However, while destruction is the province solely of Free Magic, a Stilken may be bound by Charter Magic and imprison'd within a vessel or structure, such as a bottle of metal or wrought crystal (simple gla.s.s being too fragile for surety) or down a dry well, covered by stone.

I have essayed this task myself, using the spells I list below. But I warn that these bindings are of terrible force, drawing as they do on no fewer than three of the master Charter marks. Only a great adept-which I am not-would dare use them without the a.s.sistance of an ensorceled sword or a rowan wand, charged with the first circle of seven marks for binding the elements, and in the case of fire and air, the second circle too, and all of them linked with the master mark- Lirael swallowed again, her throat suddenly sore. The notation Nagy used was for the same master mark that had burnt her. Worse than that, she didn't know the second circle of marks for binding fire and air, and she had no idea how they could all be put into a sword or a rowan wand. She didn't even know where she could find a rowan tree, for that matter.

Slowly, she shut the book and placed it back on the shelf, careful not to rattle the chain. Part of her was frustrated. Having finally found out what the creature was, she still had to find out more. Another part of her was relieved that she would not have to confront the Stilken. Not yet.

She would have time to create her dog-sending first. At least then she would have something . . . someone to talk to about all this. Even if it couldn't talk back, or help her.

Chapter Ten.

Dog Day The final spell to create the dog-sending required four hours to cast, so Lirael had to wait for another opportunity when most of the librarians would be away. If she were interrupted during the casting, all her work of the previous months would be wasted, the delicately connected network of Charter-spells broken into their component marks, rather than brought together by the final spell. to create the dog-sending required four hours to cast, so Lirael had to wait for another opportunity when most of the librarians would be away. If she were interrupted during the casting, all her work of the previous months would be wasted, the delicately connected network of Charter-spells broken into their component marks, rather than brought together by the final spell.

The opportunity came sooner than Lirael had expected, for whatever the Clayr were trying to See obviously still eluded them. Lirael heard other librarians muttering about the de-mands of the Observatory, and it was clear that the Nine Day Watch was growing in size again, starting with a ninety-eight. This time, as each new, larger Watch was called, Lirael carefully observed the time of the summons and noted when the Clayr returned. When the full Fifteen Sixty-Eight was called-amidst considerable grumbling in the Reading Room-she estimated she had at least six hours. Time enough to finish her sending.

In her study, the dog statuette sat benignly, surveying Lirael's preparations from the top of her desk. Lirael spoke to it as she locked the door, with a spell since she wasn't senior enough to rate a key or bar.

"This is it, little dog," she said cheerfully, reaching over to stroke the dog's stone snout with one finger. The sound of her own voice surprised her, not because of the huskiness that still remained from her damaged throat, but because it sounded strange and unfamiliar. She realized then that she hadn't spoken for two days. The other librarians had long accepted her silence, and she had not recently been taxed with any conversation that required more than a nod, a shake of the head, or simply instant application to an ordered task.

The beginning of the dog-sending was under her desk, hidden by a draped cloth. Lirael reached in, removed the cloth, and gently slid out the framework she had built to start the spell. She ran her hands over it, feeling the warmth of the Charter marks that swam lazily up and down the twisted silver wires that formed the shape of a dog. It was a small dog, about a foot high, the size constrained by the amount of silver wire Lirael could easily obtain. Besides, she thought a small dog-sending would be more sensible than a big one. She wanted a comfortable friend, not a dog large enough to be a guard-sending.

Aside from the framework of silver wire, the dog shape had two eyes made from jet b.u.t.tons and a nose of black felt, all of them already imbued with Charter marks. It also had a tail made from braided dog hair, clipped surrept.i.tiously from several visiting dogs down in the Lower Refectory. That tail was already prepared with Charter marks, marks that defined something of what it was to be a dog.

The final part of the spell required Lirael to reach into the Charter and pluck forth several thousand Charter marks, letting them flow through her and into the silver-wire armature. Marks that fully described a dog, and marks that would give the semblance of life, though not the actuality.

When the spell was finished, the silver wire, jet b.u.t.tons, and braided dog hair would be gone, replaced by a puppy-sized dog of spell-flesh. It would look like a dog till you got close enough to see the Charter marks that made it up, but she wouldn't be able to touch it. Touching most sendings was like touching water: the skin would yield and then re-form around whatever touched it. All the toucher would feel was the buzz and warmth of the Charter marks.

Lirael sat down cross-legged next to the silver-wire model and started to empty her mind, taking slow breaths, forcing them down so far that her stomach pushed outwards as the air reached the very bottoms of her lungs.

She was just about to reach into the Charter and begin when her eye caught sight of the small stone dog, up on the desk. It somehow looked lonely up there, as if it felt left out. Impulsively, Lirael got up and set it in her lap when she sat back down. The small carving tilted slightly but stayed upright, looking at the silver-wire copy of itself.

Lirael took a few more breaths and began again. She had written out the marks she required, in the safe shorthand all Mages used to record Charter marks. But those papers stayed by her side, still in a neat pile. She found that the first marks came easily, and those after them seemed to almost choose themselves. Mark after mark leapt out of the flow of the Charter and into her mind, then as quickly out, crossing to the silver-wire dog in an arc of golden lightning.

As more and more marks rushed through her, Lirael slipped further into a trance state, barely aware of anything except the Charter and the marks that filled her. The golden lightning became a solid bridge of light from her outstretched hands to the silver wires, growing brighter by the second. Lirael closed her eyes against the glare, and she felt herself slip towards the edge of dream, her conscious mind barely awake. Images moved restlessly between the marks in her mind. Images of dogs, many dogs, of all shapes, colors, and sizes. Dogs barking. Dogs running after thrown sticks. Dogs refusing to run. Puppies waddling on uncertain paws. Old dogs shivering themselves upright. Happy dogs. Sad dogs. Hungry dogs. Fat, sleepy dogs.

More and more images flashed through, till Lirael felt she had seen glimpses of every dog that had ever lived. But still the Charter marks roared through her mind. She had long lost track of where she was up to, or which marks were next-and the golden light was too bright for her to see how much of the sending was done.

Yet the marks flowed on. Lirael realized that not only did she not know which mark she was up to-she didn't even know the marks that were pa.s.sing through her head! Strange, unknown marks were pouring out of her into the sending. Powerful marks that rocked her body as they left, forcing everything else out of her mind with the urgency of their pa.s.sage.

Desperately, Lirael tried to open her eyes, to see what the marks were doing-but the glow was blinding now, and hot. She tried to stand up, to direct the flow of marks into the wall or ceiling. But her body seemed disconnected from her brain. She could feel everything, but her legs and arms wouldn't move, just as if she were trying to wake herself from the end of a dream.

Still the marks came, and then Lirael's nostrils caught the terrible, unmistakable reek of Free Magic, and she knew something had gone terribly, horribly wrong.

She tried to scream, but no sound came out, only Charter marks that leapt from her mouth towards the golden radiance. Charter marks continued to fly from her fingers, too, and swam in her eyes, spilling down inside her tears, which turned to steam as they fell.

More and more marks flew through Lirael, through her tears and her silent screaming. They swarmed through like an endless flight of bright b.u.t.terflies forced through a garden gate. But even as the thousands and thousands of marks flung themselves into the brightness, the smell of Free Magic rose, and a crackling white light formed in the center of the golden glow, so bright it shone through Lirael's shut eyelids, piercing her br.i.m.m.i.n.g eyes.

Held motionless by the torrent of Charter Magic, Lirael could do nothing as the white light grew stronger, subduing the rich golden glow of the swirling marks. It was the end, she knew. Whatever she'd done now, it was much, much worse than freeing a Stilken; so much worse that she couldn't really comprehend it. All she knew was that the marks that pa.s.sed through her now were more ancient and more powerful than anything she had ever seen. Even if the Free Magic that grew in front of her spared her life, the Charter marks would burn her to a husk.

Except, she realized, they didn't hurt. Either she was in shock and already dying, or the marks weren't harming her. Any one of them would have killed her if she'd tried to use them normally. But several hundred had already stormed through, and she was still breathing. Wasn't she?

Frightened by the thought that she might not be breathing, Lirael focused all her remaining energy on inhaling-just as the tremendous flow of marks suddenly stopped. She felt her connection to the Charter sever as the last mark jumped across to the boiling ma.s.s of gold and white light that had been her silver-wire dog. Her breath came with sudden force, and she overbalanced, falling backwards. At the last moment, she caught the edge of the bookshelf, almost pulling that on top of her. But the shelf didn't quite go over, and she pulled herself back up to a sitting position, ready to use her newly filled lungs to scream.

The scream stayed unborn. Where the Free Magic and Charter marks had fought in their sparking, swirling brilliance, there was now a globe of utter darkness that occupied the s.p.a.ce where the wire dog and the desk had been. The awful tang of Free Magic was gone, too, replaced by a sort of damp animal odor that Lirael couldn't quite identify.

A tiny pinp.r.i.c.k star appeared on the black surface of the globe, and then another, and another, till it was no longer dark but as star-filled as a clear night sky. Lirael stared at it, mesmerized by the mult.i.tude of stars. They grew brighter and brighter, till she was forced to blink.

In the instant of that blink, the globe disappeared, leaving behind a dog. Not a cute, cuddly Charter sending of a puppy, but a waist-high black and tan mongrel that seemed to be entirely real, including its impressive teeth. It had none of the characteristics of a sending. The only hint of its magical origin was a thick collar around its neck that swam with more Charter marks that Lirael had never seen before.

The dog looked exactly like a life-size, breathing version of the stone statuette. Lirael stared at the real thing, then down at her lap.

The statuette was gone.

She looked back up. The dog was still there, scratching its ear with a back foot, eyes half-closed with concentration. It was soaking wet, as if it had just been for a swim.

Suddenly, the dog stopped scratching, stood up, and shook itself, spraying droplets of dirty water all over Lirael and all over the study. Then it ambled across and licked the petrified girl on the face with a tongue that most definitely was all real dog and not some Charter-made imitation.

When that got no response, it grinned and announced, "I am the Disreputable Dog. Or Disreputable b.i.t.c.h, if you want to get technical. When are we going for a walk?"

Chapter Eleven.

Search for a Suitable Sword The walk that Lirael and the Disreputable Dog took that day was the first of many, though Lirael never could remember exactly where they went, or what she said, or what the Dog answered. All she could recall was being in the same sort of daze she'd had when she'd hit her head-only this time she wasn't hurt. Lirael and the Disreputable Dog took that day was the first of many, though Lirael never could remember exactly where they went, or what she said, or what the Dog answered. All she could recall was being in the same sort of daze she'd had when she'd hit her head-only this time she wasn't hurt.

Not that it mattered, because the Disreputable Dog never really answered her questions. Later, Lirael would repeat the same questions and get different, still-evasive answers. The most important questions-"What are you? Where did you come from?"-had a whole range of answers, starting with "I'm the Disreputable Dog" and "from elsewhere" and occasionally becoming as eloquent as "I'm your Dog" and "You tell me-it was your spell."

The Dog also refused, or was unable, to answer questions about her nature. She seemed in most respects to be exactly like a real dog, albeit a speaking one. At least at first.

For the first two weeks they were together, the Dog slept in Lirael's study, under the replacement desk that Lirael had been forced to purloin from an empty study nearby. She had no idea what had happened to her own, as not a bit of it remained after the Dog's sudden appearance.

The Dog ate the food Lirael stole for her from the Refectory or the kitchens. She went walking with Lirael four times a day in the most disused corridors and rooms Lirael could find, a nerve-wracking exercise, though somehow the Dog always managed to hide from approaching Clayr at the last second. She was discreet in other ways as well, always choosing dark and unused corners to use as a toilet-though she did like to alert Lirael to the fact that she had done so, even if her human friend declined to sniff at the result.

In fact, apart from her collar of Charter marks and the fact that she could talk, the Disreputable Dog really did seem to be just a rather large dog of uncertain parentage and curious origin.

But of course she wasn't. Lirael sneaked back to her study one evening after dinner, to find the Dog reading on the floor. The Dog was turning the pages of a large grey book that Lirael didn't recognize, with one paw-a paw that had grown longer and separated out into three extremely flexible fingers.

The Dog looked up from the book as her supposed mistress froze in the doorway. All Lirael could think of were the words in Nagy's book, about the Stilken's form being fluid-and the way the hook-handed creature had stretched and thinned to get through the gate guarded by the crescent moon.

"You are a Free Magic thing," she blurted out, reaching into her waistcoat pocket for the clockwork mouse, as her lips felt for the whistle on her lapel. This time she wouldn't make a mistake. She'd call for help right away.

"No, I'm not," protested the Dog, her ears stiffening in outrage as her paw shrank back to its normal proportions. "I'm definitely not a thing! I'm as much a part of the Charter as you are, albeit with special properties. Look at my collar! And I am definitely not a Stilken or any other of the several hundred variations thereof."

"What do you know about Stilken?" asked Lirael. She still didn't enter the study, and the clockwork mouse was ready in her hand. "Why did you mention them in particular?"

"I read a lot," replied the Dog, yawning. Then she sniffed, and her eyes lit up with expectation. "Is that a ham bone you have there?"

Lirael didn't answer but moved the paper-wrapped object in her left hand behind her back. "How did you know I was thinking about a Stilken just then? And I still don't know you aren't one yourself, or something even worse."

"Feel my collar!" protested the Dog as she edged forward, licking her chops. Clearly the current conversation wasn't as interesting as the prospect of food.

"How did you know I was thinking about a Stilken?" repeated Lirael, giving each word a slow and considered emphasis. She held the ham bone over her head as she spoke, watching the Dog's head tilt back to follow the movement. Surely a Free Magic creature wouldn't be this interested in a ham bone.

"I guessed, because you seem to be thinking about Stilken quite a lot," replied the Dog, gesturing with a paw at the books on the desk. "You are studying everything required to bind a Stilken. Besides, you also wrote 'Stilken' fourteen times yesterday on that paper you burnt. I read it backwards on the blotter. And I've smelled your spell on the door down below, and the Stilken that waits beyond it."

"You've been out by yourself!" exclaimed Lirael. Forgetting that she had been afraid of whatever the Dog might be, she stormed in, slamming the door behind her. In the process, she dropped the clockwork mouse, but not the ham bone.

The mouse bounced twice and landed at the Dog's feet. Lirael held her breath, all too aware that the door was now shut at her back, which would greatly delay the mouse if she needed help. But the Dog didn't seem dangerous, and she was so much easier to talk to than people were . . . except for Filris, who was gone.