Although Wynn would've never agreed, it seemed strange that il'Sänke hadn't demanded that she get rid of the dog. Her life in the guild was going to get more complicated than before. As they emerged into the catacombs' cavernous entry room, Master Tärpodious sat at the back table, scribbling rapidly with a quill. But he looked up.
"Ah, young Hygeorht," the old archivist began, his tone chill.
He scowled over the bowls and bread clutched in her hands. Food wasn't allowed in the archives. Then his gaze shifted to the female with a harsh squint.
"What… is…
Assist indeed—more likely keep an eye on her. High-Tower or Sykion must've gotten to him, and she'd lost another friendly acquaintance.
"She must remain with me," Wynn answered without apology, and kept a hand on the female's back. "She won't even nudge the shelves, I promise, but it's my duty to watch over her."
"Not in here!" Tärpodious croaked, and heaved himself up with wrinkled hands.
Domin il'Sänke slipped around Wynn, straight at the old man, and began whispering. The old archivist sneered in a twist of astonishment.
"That is nonsense!" he hissed. "I've never heard of anyone even seeing one… let alone the notion of it outside Lhoin'na lands!"
Wynn's gaze narrowed on il'Sänke, still whispering in Tärpodious's ear. If the Suman had read her journals, others involved in translation had done so, High-Tower especially. Yet they still refused to believe her recordings any more than her verbal claims concerning more deadly matters than a majay-hì.
"Fine, if she's that far gone," Tärpodious grumbled. "But you're responsible, Ghassan, if that animal causes damage."
Wynn also hoped Chap's daughter would behave, but she didn't like the hint of how il'Sänke had gained the elder sage's agreement. Tärpodious hunched where he braced upon the table's edge and eyed Wynn like a vulture waiting for her to drop dead.
"But no food inside!" he warned. "You may finish it here or leave it behind."
Domin il'Sänke ushered Wynn to a table farthest from the archivist.
"What did you just tell him?" she demanded in a whisper.
"If you are thought a madwoman—or act like one—at least take advantage of it… and anything that seemingly soothes your addled mind."
She glanced down at Chap's daughter.
"I'm not mad!" Wynn hissed. "And you of all people know it."
"Not by that nonsense in the common hall," il'Sänke returned. "Keep your new companion away from the populace. Now finish your meal, and Tärpodious will show you to your place."
With that he turned and left, and Wynn settled at the table, unshouldering her satchel. She set one bowl of stew on the floor for her "companion." The female sniffed it uncertainly, but finally began lapping at her stew, finishing off the gravy but not touching the vegetables.
Wynn sighed. "We'll find you something better tonight."
She quickly ate her own meal, pocketing the roll for later, and shouldered her satchel once more.
"Where am I to study the translations?" she asked.
Tärpodious grunted and gestured to the archway behind himself. "In there."
Wynn walked over to peer inside.
There were few shelves in the small antechamber. It was probably an old storage room turned into a temporary holding place for material waiting to be reshelved. Dust trails on the floor suggested the shelves had been recently moved. The room now contained a table for her
Tärpodious had been told to watch over her.
Why did Sykion and High-Tower always have to paint her as untrustworthy? But the arrangement was better than none—and all she planned to do was read and take notes.
"Thank you," she said politely, and stepped into her prepared space.
Four heavy stacks of scribed sheets lay upon the table, some bound and some not. Beside them rested a large makeshift book, laced together with temporary waxed string—the codex. Forgetting hurt pride, Wynn motioned to the dog.
"Come."
Whether Chap's daughter understood or not, she trotted in, sniffing the floor and scanning the strange surroundings.
"Stay in here with me," Wynn said softly, "and do not knock anything over."
The female cocked her head, whined once, and went back to sniffing about.
"Come here," Wynn insisted, settling into her chair.
The majay-hì didn't look at her.
Master Tärpodious glanced over his shoulder, watching with his lips pressed tightly together in disapproval. Wynn pretended not to notice him.
Chap's young daughter hadn't traveled as her father had. Likely she didn't understand spoken words, let alone human tongues. But perhaps she'd heard a little of the an'Cróan dialect, enough to understand a few basic words—if she chose to.
Wynn pointed at the floor beside her chair. "
