A frown furrowed his brow. ‘So. An inexperienced Skill-user cannot pass through a pillar on his own?’

‘I don’t know. The first time I went through one, it was purely accidental on my part. But I had spent that whole day in a sort of Skill-stupor, on an Elderling road… Chade. What are you chinking?’

His quizzical look was too innocent.

‘Chade, stay away from those pillars. They are dangerous. Perhaps more dangerous to you, who may have traces of Skill-magic in your blood, than to ordinary folk.’

‘What are you afraid of?’ he asked me quietly. ‘That I might discover that I possessed an aptitude for the Skill? That perhaps, if I had been taught as a boy, I too could wield it now?’

‘Perhaps you could. But what I fear is that you will read some cracked and dusty old scroll and risk yourself in some experiment just when the Six Duchies needs you most.’

Chade made a disapproving grim as he got up to place the figurine on his mantel. ‘And that reminds me of another thing. The Queen sends you this.’ He picked up a small scroll from the mantel and handed it to me. Unfurled, I immediately recognized Kettricken’s squared hand. She had never become accustomed to the flowing script we used in the Six Duchies. Twelve careful runes were inked there, and by each one was a single word. ‘Harbour, Beach, Glacier, Cave, Mountain, Mother-house, Hunter, Warrior, Fisher, Allmother, Smith, Weaver.’

‘It’s from some game she was playing with Peottre. I see why she sent you this. Do you?’

I nodded. ‘The runes look similar to the runes on the Skill-pillars. They are not the identical runes, but they look as if they might be from the same system of writing.’

‘Very good. But one, at least, is almost identical. Here. These are the tunes that marked the pillar that you and the Prince used. The one near the old mounds.’

Chade took up a second scroll from the table between us. It was obviously the work of a true scribe. It showed four carefully replicated symbols, with the orientation of each facet of the pillar marked, as well as notations on the size and placement of the originals. Chade had obviously sent his little bees out to gather information for him. ‘Which one took you to the beach?’ Chade asked me.

‘This one.’ It was similar to the one for ‘Beach’ on Kettricken’s scroll, save for an extra tail or two.

‘And did an identical one bring you back?’

I frowned. ‘I had little time to note the appearance of the one what brought me back. I see you’ve been busy in my absence.’

He nodded. ‘There are other stone pillars within the Six Duchies. I’ll have information on them within the next few weeks. Obviously they were originally used by Skilled-ones, and somehow the knowledge of how they worked was lost for a time. But we have a chance to regain it.’

‘Only at great danger. Chade, may I point out that our trip to the beach ended with Dutiful and me underwater? It could have been much worse. Imagine if one of the exit pillars was face down on the ground. Or shattered. What happens to the user then?’

Chade looked only mildly flustered as he said, ‘Well, then I assumed you would see the way was blocked and come right back.’

‘My assumption is that I would be expelled from the pillar into solid stone. It isn’t like a doorway where you can halt and look out. It dumps you out, as if you’d stepped through a trapdoor.’

‘Ah. I see. Well, then their use will have to be investigated much more carefully. But as we read the Skill-scrolls, we may be able to decipher what each rune means and at least establish where each “gate” originally opened. And thus, eventually, determine which ones are safe to use. And perhaps right or repair the others. What other Skill-users did in the past, we can reclaim.’

‘Chade. I am not at all certain that those pillars were the work of Skill-users. Perhaps some have used them, but each time I’ve passed through one, the disorientation and the…’ I groped for words. ‘Foreignness,’ I hazarded at last. ‘The foreignness makes me wonder if Skill-users are the ones who built them. If they were built by humans at all.’

‘Elderlings?’ he had suggested after a moment.

‘I don’t know,’ I had replied.

The conversation echoed through my mind as I gazed at the racked scrolls and the locked chests in the Skill-tower. The answers might he here, waiting for me.

I selected three scrolls from the rack from among the ones that looked most recent. I’d start with the ones in letters and languages that I knew well. I found none by Solicity, which struck me as odd. Certainly, our last Skillmistress must have committed something of her wisdom to paper; it was generally assumed that one who achieved Master status would have something unique to pass on to their followers. But if Solicity had ever written anything, it was not amongst these scrolls. The three I finally chose were by someone named Treeknee, and were labelled as a translation of an older manuscript by Skillmaster Okief. The translations had been done at the behest of Skillmaster Barley. I had never heard of any of them. I tucked the three scrolls under my arm and departed by way of the false panel in the hearth mantel.

I intended to leave the scrolls in Chade’s tower room. They did not belong in Tom Badgerlock’s chamber. But before I went there, I made a brief detour through the hidden corridors until I reached an irregular crack in the wall. I approached it silently and peeped through it. Civil Bresinga’s chamber was empty. This confirmed what Chade had told me last night, that young Civil would ride out with a party accompanying the Prince and his intended. Good. Perhaps I’d have the opportunity for a quick tour of his rooms, not that I expected it would yield much. Other than his clothes and the small daily possessions of a man, he kept nothing there. In the evenings, his chamber was either empty or he was alone in it. When he was there, his most common diversion was playing a small pipe, badly, or indulging in Smoke and staring out of the window. In all the spying I’d ever done, Civil was the most boring subject I’d ever had.

I headed up to Chade’s tower room, but paused before triggering the hidden catch, to listen and then peep into the room. I heard a soft-mouthed muttering, the thud of firewood being unloaded. I nearly turned aside, thinking I could leave the scrolls in the corridor until later. Then I decided there were too many laters in my life, and that I was leaving too much up to Chade. Only I could do this, really. I took a slow and calming breath, focused myself, and then eased my walls down.

Please don’t be startled. I’m coining into the room.

It didn’t help. Almost as soon as I got through the door, the wave hit me. Don’t see me, stink dog! Don’t hurt me! Go away!

But my walls were up and I was braced.

‘Stop that, Thick. By now you should know that it doesn’t work on me, and that I have no intention of hurting you. Why are you so afraid of me?’ I set the scrolls down on the worktable.

Thick had stood to meet me. At his feet was a hod of firewood. Half had been loaded into the box by the hearth. He squinted his sleepy-looking eyes at me. ‘Not afraid. I just don’t like you.’

There was an oddness to his voice, not a lisp, but an unfinished edge to his words, as if a very young child spoke them. Afterward, he stood glaring at me, the end of his tongue resting on his lower lip. I decided that despite his short stature and childish voice and ways, he was nor a child. I would not speak to him as one.

‘Really? I try to know people before I decide I don’t like them. I don’t think I’ve given you any reason to dislike me.’

He scowled at me, his brow furrowing. Then he gestured around the room. ‘Lots of reasons. You make more work. Water for baths. Bring up the food, take away the dishes. A lot more work than the old man only.’

‘Well, I can’t deny that.’ I hesitated, then asked, ‘What would make it fair?’