It took Cerys a little shy of a month and a great deal of help before she was finally able to understand the very basics of the book. Diero Astorio assisted her in ways she appreciated. Which is to say he did not interfere in her preferred silence. In fact, she might have gone so far as to say he seemed to enjoy the silent company as much as she did.
She wasn't entirely sure she would call him a friend. She was not even sure she would necessarily call him a teacher. He didn't exactly teach. However, she settled for thinking of him as a sort of mentor, if nothing else. The more time she spent with Diero, the more of an enigma the man revealed himself to be. And yet, within that enigma was something Cerys understood. Self-doubt.
From what she had gathered, he'd had an upbringing not unlike her own. He'd hailed from Daggerford, but his parents had moved him to Secomber when he was young. None of this, he'd told her. In fact, she'd found out most of what she knew of Diero Astorio from none other than Mara Marsk, who had described him as an ill-fitting child.
According to Mara, Diero had grown up an alone child, but not a lonely one - something Cerys knew all too well. Still, she was not sure what had drawn him to Mystra, or clericism, particularly when he made such a good lawman - and not one soul in Secomber could tell her which had come first. Her prying had not gone unnoticed by the man, and she supposed that was why she was sat in his office, upon the plush green settee once more, resisting the urge to shrink beneath his scrutiny.
He sat, waiting for her to speak. She said nothing, and waited for him to break first. Neither breathed a word. After a good few minutes of utter silence, Diero's face broke into a smile. Cerys inclined her head to one side, unsure of what he found so very amusing. Rolling his eyes, he gestured to the small metal tin of tobacco sat beside her on an end table, and held his palm out. She passed it to him with no issue, however when she attempted to bring her hand back to her lap, she found herself tightly in his grip, and her curious gaze turned wary.
"Worry not," he said, letting go of her hand. "I merely wanted to know if you were sweating or not."
"And why, pray tell, would I be sweating, Mr Astorio?" she asked, now more confused than ever. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The soft fabric rustled beneath her. Diero's brow knotted.
"You must be aware of why I've called you into this meeting," he said.
She certainly did, but she was not about to openly admit having pried into his history. She raised her eyebrows, and inclined her head for him to continue.
"I… I believe there may be a connection between you and the path I found myself wandering many years ago," he said.
Well, in that case, Cerys had no idea what he was on about. Unless the path he'd found himself wandering was one of inappropriate investigations into his mentor's past.
"Don't give me that look," he said. "You read the book, did you not?"
Cerys nodded, still not even slightly sure of what he was on about, now. "I did," she said. "What of it?"
"What did you think?"
"Well… I'm still not entirely sure about all of the words… some seem to have no modern equivalent, which is mildly baffling considering the language is not all that old," she said, shrugging. "I mean… Khelben Arunsun is an interesting man. Well was. No… he still is," she said. "I'm not exactly sure what he had to do with Mystra, but… that sounds… interesting, also."
Diero nodded. With a eager look in his eye, he opened the small tin of tobacco and took a small pinch of the dried leaf, which he promptly poked into the end of his pipe, pushing it down with a slender finger.
"And what do you think of this Mysta?"
"Well… I'm no expert on the matters of religion, but… she's not exactly what I expected of a god," she said, a sheepish smile creeping across her lips. She was not quite sure it was alright for her to say that, given Diero's connection to the god. Diero chuckled, and she relaxed a little, though not entirely.
"Is she not?"
"I pictured gods being more… I'm not sure, honestly. I did not expect any of them to take an interest in such things as wizards, but then… the weave is one of the gods' great mysteries, so I don't really know what I was expecting."
"She seems very much your sort of god."
"Do you think so?" Cerys asked, and leaned back in her seat to consider it. "I always figured if I walked any religious road, I would find myself treading the path towards Oghma."
Diero grunted, as if that possibility had not crossed his mind. Tilting his head from one side to the other, as if weighing up the options, he finally nodded. "Yes," he said. "I can see that. But I think you're not giving yourself enough credit."
"You think I am not giving myself enough credit by considering myself to have an interest in Oghma?" she asked. "Why, I'm quite sure some might find that borderline heretical, Mr Astorio."
Diero chuckled again. "I only mean to say you are a bright young woman. I think you might have an aptitude for magic - and I suspect reverence of Mystra will see you through to that goal."
Cerys recoiled. She looked down at the cracked leather cover of the bool sat to her left on the settee. Placing a hand upon it, she stroked her fingers across the cover, and they caught upon its dog-eared corners. She hadn't considered the possibility of learning to control the weave herself, however, while she would not have considered herself any authority on matters of the weave, she had learned a great deal of its nature from the book on the Blackstaff.
The soft sigh that came from Diero drew her gaze to him. She was vaguely taken aback, for she hadn't expected to see pity upon his features. Diero was many things, but pitying was not a side of him she had yet seen. She inclined her head, unsure of how to proceed, and she was thankful when he filled the void in conversation with his voice.
"You hadn't entertained the idea, had you?" he asked, his voice quiet. First, Cerys shrugged, but then she shook her head.
"My father is a pig farmer. My mother is a pig farmer. I would have you guess what their fathers and mothers were."
"So what does that make you, Miss Jones?"
Cerys smiled, though it was not a happy smile, and Diero Astorio knew exactly what this smile meant. Saying nothing, she lifted her hand from the book cover, and placed it back in her lap. He understood this action to mean the conversation was over. She appreciated his attentiveness.
"Have you had any more thought on the mysterious circumstances surrounding the sudden and unexpected death of your dear pig, Wilmorn, Miss Jones?"
Cerys took a deep breath, grateful for the subject change. She went to shake her head, and made it a good half-way through the motion before settling for a shrug. "Not exactly. The the examining body that oversaw the pig agility will be back in town next month."
"Ah, and what will you do when they return?" Diero asked.
Cerys tapped her chin, absent-mindedly. "Well… I suspect the cake was laced with something poisonous. The only thing dear Wilmorn, my parents, and I shared in common was that we all ate the cake, only days before we fell ill. The obvious culprit would be - of course - none other than Mrs Lavinia Greenbottle," she said.
"If you believed it was Mrs Greenbottle, should you not have brought this to the court's attention? Officially, of course."
"There is no proof."
"That is not true," Diero said. "I am well-versed in magic that would prevent her from lying. All we would need to do would be to ask her quite simply if she knowingly played any part in sabotaging that cake," he said.
"First and foremost, if she was smart enough to find a way to poison that cake in front of an audience - without being caught red-handed, then she is smart enough to weasel her way out of such an accusation."
Diero took a deep puff on his pipe, mulling over her words before nodding in agreement. "The difference between honesty and the truth," he said, and Cerys nodded. "So you want irrefutable proof."
"If Mrs Lavinia Greenbottle is behind the sabotage, then I want enough evidence that when she attempts to speak dishonestly, I can present additional evidence to discredit her claims," she said.
"If?" Diero asked. "So you are doubting your conclusion."
"I daren't presume anything, at this point, Mr Astorio. However, as I mentioned, Mrs Greenbottle always wins the pig agility. She has done so every year, ever since I can remember. It makes little sense why she would poison a cake she expected to take home."
"Unless she did not plan to take it home," Diero said. "What if she suspected your father's beloved Wilmorn would eventually surpass her own pig. If she poisoned your pig, it would look suspicious. If she poisoned a cake she was supposed to win, it would be senseless. Unless she had not planned to win, and instead allowed Wilmorn the victory."
Cerys tapped her chin again, eyes narrowing. "That is certainly a possibility, and one I would not rule out. It is doubtful, considering Wilmorn's triumph came a surprise to all of us - including Shandri Kulenov, who oversaw the examining body. However, if this were the case, Mrs Greenbottle got exactly what she wanted… Wilmorn is no longer amongst the living. He shan't be winning any further contests, and yet I still catch her scowling at me and my parents - even when we are not looking."
"Interesting."
"Do you not think that odd? I might understand her keeping up the act when we are looking, but to continue to scowl at us… I think she intended to win that cake," Cerys said. "So I wish to speak with the judges. I will enquire about the origin of the cake. If it was left alone, I want to know where and how long for. I want to know where it came from, who made it - and-" she stopped speaking when she spied the grin plastered across Diero Astorio's face. "What in the world are you giving me that look for, Mr Astorio?" she asked. "Have I said something?"
"Why yes, Miss Jones. You have," he responded, struggling to stifle his evident satisfaction. "You've said everything - perfectly."
"I…" She wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. "I beg your pardon?" she asked, leaning forwards in her seat.
"You!" he said, clarifying absolutely nothing for her. "You are exactly who I thought you were. That sharp mind of yours is going to serve you well in the days to come," he said and leaned back in his own armchair. Cerys lingered mid-lean for a good few moments before following suit, leaning back.
"Well I am glad I have pleased you, even if I am not sure what this is about," she said. "I ought to let you get back to work, as I am sure you are busy. However, before I take my leave, there is one more thing I wished to discuss with you," she said.
Diero extended a hand, gesturing for her to continue. "By all means," he said.
Cerys nodded in appreciation and lifted the book onto her lap. She flicked through the pages, catching glimpses of diagram, charts, and colourful illustrations, until she found the passage she was looking for; a small paragraph in an unfamiliar script, scratchy and scrawling. Studying it for one final moment, as if clarity might come to her, she sighed when she could still make no sense of it, and spun the book around for Diero to have a read.
"What's this?" he asked peering across the gap between them. She picked the book up and extended her arm out for him to take it from her, which he promptly did, placing it down upon his own lap. He narrowed his eyes, before reaching his hand out and groping the table beside him for his glasses.
Cerys smiled and rose to her feet. She circled around his desk and retrieved his glasses from the far side, before stepping back around and holding them against the table beside him. His hand collided with hers and he looked up with a start. She said nothing, and his gaze fell down to the glasses in her hand.
"You left them on your desk," she said, and he looked back up to her again. "Your glasses."
"Oh." Swallowing, he wetted his lips and nodded in appreciation. She turned her hand over to present them to him and he took them from her, wiping the lenses upon his woolen jacket, before sliding them onto his face. She stepped around him, and leaned over to watch him read.
"There are a number of these passages in the book, and I understand none of them," she said. "I thought - considering this book came from you, Mr Astorio - you might be able to offer me a little insight, as I feel I am missing something."
Diero nodded. "Well, I must confess… I had only flicked through it. I hadn't noticed any passages such as this one," he admitted, looking over his shoulder and up at her. She nodded, and he turned his attention back to the page before him. After taking several deep breaths in through his nose, and shaking his head a good half a dozen times, he leaned back and sighed in defeat. "Why, Miss Jones, this is an enigma."
"What ever do you mean, Mr Astorio?" she asked, reaching her hand down for the book He lifted it for her and she took it, holding it up to her face.
"That passage is in fact written with the draconic script. I am well-versed in such a tongue," he said, though the the way his voice lingered made it clear to Cerys he was not done talking, and she said nothing, instead awaiting him to continue. "This is... nonsense."
"I… Pardon?"
"Whatever is written here is nonsense," he said. "Or… Well… perhaps it's not… It is a magical script, and so while it is written with the letters of the draconic language, it is not written in draconic. This… is likely a code of some sort," he explained. Cerys stepped around him, still lingering on her feet. Her lips twitched into a smile.
"Is there any way to dispel the magic?"
Shaking his head, Diero sighed again. "To do that would be to destroy both the illusion there and potentially the original writing. Someone has deliberately obscured this text. For what purpose, I can only guess."
"So that only the right person could read it," she said. "It makes no sense to conceal the meaning without a reason. Either whoever wrote this needed it written so that they might find it again later, or so that someone else would."
"A reasonable theory," Diero said. "In which case, it would seem neither of us are the right person."
"Perhaps," Cerys said. "Without being able to read draconic, I couldn't say for sure, as I don't know if you and I are seeing the same thing."
"That is a point to consider," he agreed.
"Well then. It seems I should add leaning draconic to my itinerary if I wish to get to the bottom of this. I feel like… I feel like I'm missing something in this book. Interesting as it is, I feel like there is more to it, and I'm almost touching it - only inches away from having it in my grasp," she said.
Diero chuckled and plucked his glasses from where they rested upon his nose. Folding them up, he placed them on the table beside him and rose to his feet. He brushed out the wrinkles of his trousers and the dust off his shoulders before taking a step towards Cerys who snapped the book closed and lowered it to her side.
"I must ask, Miss Jones," he said. It was her turn to swallow. An unsettling twist in her gut kept her at disease.
"By all means," she reprised.
"Is it the knowledge you are after, or is it the puzzle? Which motivates you? I know you say it is knowledge you seek, but your actions speak differently."
"I suppose I ought to admit… it is both. I am only too eager to learn new things - anyone who feels otherwise is doomed to remain the fool, but… to be handed knowledge… well that seems entirely too boring, to be frank. It would be dishonest to dismiss the thrill of a mystery."
Diero snorted and inclined his head towards her. "And yet you feel you walk Oghma's path."
Looking up at him, she shrugged. "Perhaps this conversation has swayed me," she said, and paused before adding, "just a little." With a coy smile, she bowed her head and took a step away from him. She backed out of the door, and pulled it closed behind her as she turned to face the corridor, leaving him alone in his office. She remained in place, her back against the door. She closed her eyes, teeth sinking into her lower lip as she listened through the door.
Inside, Diero Astorio let out a deep sigh, though Cerys could not decipher the meaning behind it. Shaking her head, she headed down the cold corridor of the courthouse and stepped through the doors, out into the scalding summer heat.
