The Ever Lord: Kasta and Yuris Ka-Melan, the Master of Tithes

The Hall of Record was like a honeycomb.

Kasta never called it a honeycomb, unlike many of his fellow Quill-servants, though he could certainly understand the parallels. The hundreds of ladders were sometimes occupied by four Quill-servants at a time, reaching out to remove or replace thick folders of paper or stacks of scrolls in their proper cubby-holes. The swish and hiss of robes brushing the smooth stone was like the soft hiss of a waterfall, while thin leather sandals eroded winding paths between the stairs and cabinets.

Everything was in the Hall of Record. Letters from centuries ago were hidden somewhere in the stacks, detailing the rise and fall of Houses long since lost. Collated data on harvest yeilds from across the Empire sat in thick drawers. Which holy relics had been passed to whom, during which wars, and their current precise location were collected in massive books that piled higher than than the tallest Knight.

All along the walls and in carefully positioned loci throughout the massive Hall, desks squatted like frogs while Quill-servants wrote reports, filled out forms, and collated information into thick-bound folders. Their lives were paper and ink, placed on their desks with reverence and marked with the same zeal. Letters and scrolls were passed back and forth, along a current that only the Librarian of Record truly understood.

The Librarian was not a child of the Ever Empire. There could not have been a single drop of the Ever Lord’s blood in the Librarian’s veins; they had come from beyond the Velvet in the centuries past before He erected the Aspectured Wall, separating the Empire from the rest of the Myriad Worlds. Or perhaps, recognizing both His need and the Librarian’s ability, the Lord of Ever and Always had reached beyond the wall one day and pulled the Librarian through.

No noble could serve as the Librarian did. Their multi-limbed and lumpy alien form was horrific in its efficiency. They sat on a giant dais in the middle of the Hall, accepting papers and handing out letters to any Quill-servants who happened to pass by. They rarely looked up from their candle-wax caked desk as they cross-referenced, tabulated, and organized the entire Hall of Record with the speed, skill, and style of a master of the pen.

They had no name but Librarian, and Kasta had never seen them eat. Countless questions swarmed through his mind, but he dared not ask; no one else did, after all.

“For the one true record,” Kasta intoned as he stepped forward, holding out his large stack of papers towards the massive desk.

A long hand snaked out and snatched the papers away with a snap. Kasta bowed to his distracted superior, an important if unnoticed gesture.

But when Kasta rose again, the Librarian was staring directly at him.

Kasta bowed again, instinctively. He had never looked the Librarian in the eyes before. Their five gray globes glittered out from beneath their wide brim hat in the candlelight, peering through the dangling strips of paper that swung around their head.

Three limbs snaked forward to fold themselves on the Librarian’s desk. In a voice that was full of dust and dried glue, the Librarian spoke: “Little spy-fly, mine, what dare you have done?”

On instinct, Kasta’s hands slipped deeper into his sleeves. Hearing through the Librarian’s strange pattern of speech was a necessary talent of all Quill-servants, and Kasta had learned quickly. “Librarian, I have done nothing but serve the Hall and the Ever Lord as is my duty.” His head bowed low a third time. “Forgive me, I do not know what you mean.”

“Little spy-fly,” the Librarian mused, its limbs continuing to gather papers from the swarming servants while it stared at Kasta’s brow. “Caught attention, he has. Never see a spy-fly, no, they mustn’t. Like leaves on trees, like rain in storms. Seen but not seen; only seen he was. Someone wants him. Paid attention to him. Asked for him.”

Kasta looked up. “Someone has asked for me? Who?”

“Short and thin and old and slow,” the Librarian’s head rocked back and forth. “Noble of his own House — silly things — or proxy or emissary or borrowed valor hung round his neck. I know not. Know I the scratch of the pen. Know I the scent of the ink. Know I the every soft sound of every thin page rolled tight in their cubby-hole, pressed into drawers, bound by string and sealant.” The Librarian clicked something like a tongue against their teeth and waved a tiny hand. “Marq I see from sash on shoulder. Marquis of Ka-Melan and needs he your presence. Tell you, I said, and duty done go I back to paper. Yes, your decision now, to go or to stay. Many papers need placing, yes, many flies to carry papers to and fro. Plenty to do, plenty to do…”

Kasta’s skin felt tight. A Marquis of Ka-Melan had asked for Kasta? Why? If you required the services of the Hall of Record, you just asked for a servant. No one ever asked for a Quill-servant by name.

Someone had seen him.

Kasta bowed his farewell to the Librarian, and ran through the Hall of Record as fast as he could, desk rattling against his stomach, back towards his tiny room. If a Marq wanted to meet with him — if a Marquis of Ka-Melan wanted to see him, he had no time to waste.

Slipping through the door, he tore off his desk and set it down hard on the silk-covered platform. He had no time for reverence. He straightened up and turned to race to the small mirror on his wall, and the box of makeup that sat underneath it on the small sideboard, when —

“Kasta Illibran, I presume?”

Kasta’s bones froze. His blood chilled. There, in the corner of his room, stood the cleanly dressed and golden ornamented figure of a Noble of the Ever Empire. His face was worn, his limbs thin and gnarled. Around his chest hung the sash and sigil of office that marked him as a Marquis of House Ka-Melan.

Kasta bowed low. “Your most Honorable Lordship.”

The Marquis Ka-Melan stepped forward. “I stand in your room, a place not fit for any scion of noble bearing, much less one who has not been invited, and your only response is to honor me with a title I have long since grown bored of.”

Kasta didn’t look up. He didn’t dare. his hands stayed hidden in his sleeves. “How may I serve your most Honorable Lordship?”

“There it is again,” the man sniffed. “I tell you I am tired of it, and you use it again. Illibran.”

It was not a question. Kasta stood as still as a statue.

“Illibran” the Marquis repeated. It still was not a question. “Illibran,” he repeated the name a third time as he stepped closer. “I do not know that House. I have studied the Imperial Heraldries for many nights, and still I do not know that House. I have even spent two days here, in the Hall of Record myself, searching for records of the House Illibran, and I find myself none the wiser.”

Kasta licked his lips. “The Hall of Record is large and difficult to navigate, my Lord. Even we Quill-servants sometimes lose our way.”

“Indeed?” the Marquis folded his arms. “And yet with a Housename that even I cannot find, you manage to become one of the holy Quill-servants of the Hall of Record. How did that happen, I wonder?”

“Good fortune and our Ever Lord’s blessing, my Lord. I worked very hard.”

“Everyone works hard,” the man’s voice was cold. “It is the duty of every citizen of the Ever Empire to work hard, every day of their lives. Barons, Counts, and indeed, Marqs such as myself vie for the right for their children to serve at the Ever Palace. Are you son of a Baron, boy?”

Kasta swallowed. He fought the urge to dab at his forehead. “No, my Lord.”

“Hmm. Yet you crawl over the cubbied holes of the Hall of Record every day. You record, you file, you watch. I wonder, boy, do you see the whole picture? Are you one of the fiddlers?”

Kasta’s breath caught in his throat. Forcing the words through tight lips, he said; “My Lord, the fiddlers are a myth.”

For the first time since entering his own room, Kasta felt the gaze of the Marquis Ka-Melan slowly drift from his face. “Oh, the fiddlers exist. The Quill-servants are free to go everywhere — no, not even free, they are invited to births, ceremonies, deaths…and here in this Hall are the histories that lead up to every event they see. Threads of blood and ink that cover the whole Empire lie within these walls. Oh yes, how could the fiddlers not exist?”

“As my Lord wishes.” Kasta said, begging the Ever Lord in his mind that the man would leave soon.

“Hm.” The Marquis’ mouth twisted as his gaze locked onto Kasta’s face once more. “Are you a clever servant, Kasta?”

“It is not my place to say, my Lord. I serve as best as is within my ability.”

“A clever answer,” the man nodded. “I wonder, Kasta, if clever is dangerous for one in your position.”

“My Lord?”

The man slowly began to circumnavigate the tiny room — no small feat, considering its tiny size. “Clever finds solutions; but to find solutions, Clever must first find problems. Clever means you know the answers to the questions you are asked.” Kasta opened his mouth to reply, but the Marquis silenced him with a finger. “Ambition without cleverness is doomed to failure, and cleverness without ambition is sloth.”

Kasta struggled not to squirm. “Failure and sloth may be fought with virtue, my Lord.”

“Yes,” the man nodded. “Virtue is essential in the functioning of the Ever Empire. Our Ever Lord demands it. What virtue do you find in your work, Sir Illibran? Do not say Humility, I have no patience for equivocation.”

Kasta couldn’t answer. He stayed perfectly still, perfectly silent. He struggled to keep his heart beating slowly, to keep his hot blood from burning his skin and wiping the makeup away.

“Very well,” the man said at last. “Perhaps a trade, then. I have need of answers, and the Hall of Record is indeed very large. I do not have the time nor the warewithal to crawl up and down ladders like a spider searching for a fly. If you aid me in my endeavors then I will grant you recompense in accordance with my station.”

Ah. Now this was something Kasta had at least a passing familiarity with. Usually, when a noble wanted to bribe the Quill-servants of the Hall of Record they approached the Librarian directly. Sometimes they sent their servants to hide in the shadows until an unsuspecting novice found themselves with a finger to their lips and a bag of coin in their hand.

Such attempts at bribery were usually laughed off with ease, as most often the information was free for any who cared to look, and the Quill-servants were always happy to help. A great many spies and rogues left the Hall of Record with red faces and full pockets once this was explained.

Kasta often wondered what the world outside the Hall of Record was like, considering how quickly the outsiders resorted to coin. He adopted a careful and disarming smile. “But my Lord —”

As if reading his mind, the Marquis waved a hand to silence him. “Do not think to explain the workings of the Hall of Record to the Tithe Master. I do not aim to purchase your aid with my service, but your silence.”

Kasta nearly choked. This man was Yuris Ka-Melan! “Your…most Honorable Lordship, forgive my —”

“I don’t care about your ignorance, I care about your tongue,” Yuris Ka-Melan, Tithe Master of the Ever Empire and Keeper of the Iron Box sneered. “A tongue which seems eager to wag. Cleverness is like steam; it wants to whistle when there is too much of it. Can you stopper your whistle, I wonder?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Kasta bowed his head even lower.

“Then do so,” Yuris slipped a small scroll from his pocket, “and ensure no one knows of this task, nor that it was I who gave it to you.” He tossed the scroll onto Kasta’s cot, folding his arms once more. “I imagine it will take even someone of great cleverness a goodly deal of time, and I am prepared to wait. Tell no one of what you discover, and all the political power I possess will be bent towards seeing you and Lady Polaris betrothed within a fortnight, if within a fortnight you give me the answers I seek.”

Kasta could have explained once more that he required no compensation. In fact, it was likely his duty to do so, to follow the Path of Five Virtues and remain humble in the eyes of his superior.

As Kasta looked at the scroll, he felt a drop of sweat break free from the tip of his nose.

He looked up. “Forgive me, my Lord, but I still must pray on this.”

“Of course,” Yuris nodded before turning his back. “Keep the scroll and the questions. If your prayers guide you away from me, burn the scroll. Otherwise…I suppose if you return, I shall have my answers. You are dismissed.” A heartbeat passed before the Marquis realized where he stood, and swept out of Kasta’s room with a regalness rarely shown by those who were not deeply embarrassed.

Kasta spared only a moment in abject amazement at what had just happened. The Tithe master himself had waited in Kasta’s room to command his help. He had given Kasta a job to complete in secret, and was willing to gift Kasta with his aid in return. In all his years as a Quill-servant, he had never even heard of such a thing.

Kasta was, in fact, clever. He knew Tithe Master was a position that demanded knowledge of all kinds, and it was law that the Tithe Takers could not be refused passage anywhere, nor could their questions go unanswered. So it was that a fair tithe was taken from every citizen, and the virtues of the Ever Empire were upheld. The Tithe Takers were the Ever Lord’s eyes and ears, who knew everything about everyone. That the Tithe Master knew he wished to be married to Lady Juna Polaris was no surprise.

That he required Kasta, was. What could Kasta possibly provide that the Tithe Takers could not? What information was hidden in the Hall of Record that the Tithe Master didn’t already know? Why offer a boon to Kasta for secrecy, when the Tithe Takers were already sworn to his service?

The first source of possible answers was lying on his cot. Kasta picked up the scroll: only three questions were written there…odd questions as well. No matter. Kasta had the time, and with the Marquis’s promise to help him wed Lady Juna Polaris, he had the inclination as well.

He was not so excited that he forgot to check his makeup before setting out into the Hall once more. Luckily, it was mostly still in place and required little touching up.