Intersection

            "The Baldur's Gate Press will put your translations into print after a few um, that is, a bit of editing."

            S'kaerik smiled.  "Thanks, Paul."

            Paul, an elderly, fumbling human professor who'd always reminded S'kaerik of a walrus that had inexplicably lost weight, pushed his glasses up his fat nose with a bony finger.  He was the editor and head of the Baldur's Gate Press, which was the section of the University of Baldur's Gate that printed selected books and essays for general use.  "Though the, um, the identity of the author is still a little um, in question."

            "The only way I can see to actually confirm it is to ask a cleric to perform a ritual," S'kaerik agreed.  "If that is allowed…?"

            "There is some, um, precedence, I think so yes – the translated Apocrypha of T'aleril of the High Elves, um, is a case in point.  Yes.  Ask, um, Professor Derin of Religious Mechanical Studies?"

            "I would most certainly do that," S'kaerik nodded.  Derin was a priest of Oghma, whom was relatively available to bribery regarding bits of new machinery from other parts of the world so as to clear time in his horrific schedule, and, more importantly, his word was respected in academic circles.  Oghma was one of the most powerful Gods now, strangely enough due to the onset of technology.  Not being of a very religious race, S'kaerik had no idea why, and did not really care.

            "Paul… about the catalogue I asked you about…?"

            "Oh, yes, the newest edition is out.  I have it, um, somewhere…" S'kaerik watched in amusement as Paul pushed up his glasses while trying to open his cupboard, nearly flicked them off his nose, then nearly caught his toe with the sliding mahogany drawer, then triumphantly removed a thick book from its dark recesses.  "Here we are."

            "Thanks again! Um, how much do I owe you?" S'kaerik leafed through the crisp pages.  Ah, at least they'd separated this edition according to Library – the previous ones had been a nightmare to cross-reference and find. 

            "You can keep it," Paul smiled, "Or rather, your um, friend can."

            "You know about Kar'aifein?" S'kaerik used Nalfein's assumed name.

            "Last we, um, heard, the Council was still considering his case, but I think they are, um, very interested to open negotiations."  Paul looked wistful for a moment.  "All those books… and you saw his library?"

            "Take my word for it," S'kaerik said solemnly, "It is the most number of books I have ever seen in one place, and I have been to Candlekeep Library."

            "That must truly be, um, awe-inspiring." Paul said, a little enviously.  "At least you, um, cats have more than twice our life spans."

            "But still not enough to read all of the books inside," S'kaerik rubbed one furry ear thoughtfully.  She rather missed Nalfein, even though it was only the first week back in the bright, sunshine-traced beauty of the Surface.  After he had put all those books in her room, she had been so tied up with matters regarding her departure and things she had to do for the Company that it was a relief the books were so close at hand to study, though she felt rather guilty for not visiting the old mage.  He had not even turned up at the station to wish her goodbye – at least Jarlaxle had done that, winking at her over the heads of the dwarves that were helping her carry her stuff. 

            He had, however, professed ignorance regarding the missing pages, and with nothing much else she could do, she had to believe him. 

            But still, it hurt, somehow, that Nalfein had not shown up.  On the trip back, S'kaerik had decided that she was a fool for thinking he would – after all, he probably tolerated her because, like Jarlaxle, he inexplicably found her amusing, and she was a link to the libraries of the Five and the books of the Surface.  Jarlaxle at least she considered a friend, but Nalfein, she was not really sure anymore. 

            The kiss… in the brief moment their lips had met he had tasted of spice and something she could not identify, but seemed like what she thought ancient magic might taste like, something dormant, slightly malignant, powerful, and forbidden.  She was definitely far too attracted to him for her own good – even though interspecies relationships was not much frowned upon in these days, anything with a Dark Elf would certainly generate comment.  Not that she would worry about that, but Nalfein himself might not be willing to have such interactions with a non-Drow, considering the attitude Dark Elves still had in general to other races.  The kiss probably did not mean anything to him anyway – besides, she was the one who had started it…

            "S'kaerik?"

            "Er, yes?" She was jolted out of her reverie by Paul, who was gazing at her worriedly.  "Sorry, drifted off… I think I'm still tired.  Extended train rides do that to me."

            "I was saying, um, whether he'd also like a list of the books we have in print to take his pick of whatever titles he wanted, if he reciprocates with a, um, negotiable number of titles."

            "That might be difficult – the titles he picks from his library, that is," S'kaerik said thoughtfully, "They might not be of much academic value."

            "I was um, hoping you'd be free to go back and pick them for me," Paul said, then mistook her gasp for disbelief, and added reassuringly, "I have every faith, um, in your ability."

            "Oh, it wasn't that," S'kaerik said quickly, "I was just thinking that I had to go back so soon."

            "Well, um, if you weren't willing to I can't say I blame you," Paul said soothingly, mistaking the situation again.

            "I'm quite looking forward to being allowed to get back, actually," S'kaerik corrected gently, "Everything inside is marvellous, even disregarding the lack of sunlight."

            "Truly?"

            "I don't know, it may be different for us cats," S'kaerik said, "Humans – sorry, no offence intended – don't really like the darkness, since they don't have other types of vision."

            "That's true," Paul sighed, and looked around his office.  "And I don't think I can bring myself to leave this place for weeks on end.  But you really, um, like it there?"

            "I don't know," S'kaerik twitched her tail lazily from side to side, "I like it a lot, but maybe not enough to stay there for the rest of my life.  I miss the sunshine every time I'm in there, not to mention the Company makes us work twenty-six hour days in the absence of a sun-cycle."

            "Heh, but you earn, um, income from both the University and the Company at the same time, that must be, um, good."

            "Yes, it is… and thanks for finding those books for me," S'kaerik said.  Paul was the one who located books and paid for them with the money she put aside from her pay for this purpose – she knew he wouldn't cheat her, and besides, he liked to read her books himself.  "I'd probably bring them back with me."

            At least Nalfein would get a sample, even if he didn't agree to the access of his library.  S'kaerik realized guiltily that her thoughts nowadays always strayed back to the mage, and wondered if this was unhealthy.

**

            Derin was summarily bribed with pieces of Dark Elven technology and, more importantly, the permission to peruse the book on aspects of Drow machinery that S'kaerik had borrowed from Nalfein's library for this purpose. 

            After he had put it reverently down on his desk, S'kaerik asked, "When can you do it?" She held the journal in her hands hopefully.  Naetalya's claws were in a padded bag at her feet, in case Zaknafein's mind needed jogging.

            "Now, actually," Derin said.  Although of Paul's age, the human cleric-Professor seemed to be all angles, with a sharp nose, thin fingers, and a lean, tall frame reminiscent of a slightly bent rectangle.  He was business-like, methodical, always spoke in a clipped, precise voice, and always seemed to be in a hurry, perhaps due to his lecture-packed schedule.  After all, the subject he taught was one of the most popular in the University.  "Follow me."

            S'kaerik, with some bemusement, followed Derin away from his paper-packed office, through corridors and rooms filled with harried-looking students and delicate machinery, and finally into an empty room with a shallow circular pool of water in its centre.  Rather arcane-looking markings had been traced around the pool in veins of metal in angular shapes, their ordered complexity irrationally reminding S'kaerik of Derin himself. 

            Without saying anything to her, Derin knelt at the pool and started chanting something to Oghma that S'kaerik tried not to follow out of superstition, his hands clasped together.  With scientific interest, S'kaerik watched as the pool began to glow with a misty grey light that slowly filled the room like viscous liquid, and then a sudden shaft of bright yellow light seemed to rush down from the ceiling and strike the pool with a sound like a chord played on a guitar…

            When the spots left her eyes, S'kaerik saw Derin back on his feet, arms folded, looking at a figure floating above the pool with some satisfaction. 

            A very handsome Dark Elf – face calling to mind words like 'chiselled', 'elegant', 'stunning' and 'gorgeous', yet all of which failed to appropriately illustrate the reality, somewhat transparent, dressed in a dull, simple white robe and pants, somehow managing to make, with his posture, floating helplessly and insubstantially in the air with no weapons a dashing thing to do.  He immediately spoke in rapid-fire Dark Elven, and did not sound particularly friendly.  S'kaerik felt mildly relieved that all the vituperation seemed to be directed towards Derin.

            Derin, unruffled, said, "I'd try a translation spell," and spoke a few syllables.  There was another chord of sound, and then S'kaerik's ears suddenly realized that she could understand what the Dark Elf was saying.

            "…so what the fuck do you think you're doing?" he snarled, and seemed set to start on another litany, except that now S'kaerik was quite sure she'd be able to hear the profanities, and was just equally sure that she would not be able to understand most of them, nor wish to.

            "Are you Zaknafein Do'Urden?" she asked quickly, stepping forward.

            He turned his sharp, accusing stare on her, and she nearly cringed back.  When he spoke again, his voice had knives in it.  "Yes, I am Zaknafein Do'Urden.  If, like a certain priest whose identity is luckily unknown to me, you require the use of my shade to delude…"

            "I um, actually wanted to ask you a question, then we'd let you go back.  Really.  And, um, sorry to interrupt your rest."

            Zaknafein's stare seemed to become a little less accusing at the sincerity behind her apology.  "Hurry up, then."

            "Is this yours? I mean, did you write it?" S'kaerik walked forward and held up the journal.  Zaknafein reached down, and his fingers passed through the book.  Sheepishly, S'kaerik opened it, and turned the pages slowly.  Derin, from the side, watched with vague interest.

            "How did you get this?" Zaknafein asked curiously. 

            "Jarlaxle gave it to me," S'kaerik said, reaching down for a moment to retrieve the claws from her bag.  "And these."

            Zaknafein blinked.  "Naetalya's claws!  But I did not have those in my possession, even while I lived…" He sighed.  "The nerve of that mercenary…"

            "Well, if you, um, want the claws, I guess they're really yours," S'kaerik said, feeling a pang at the thought of losing them.

            Zaknafein waved a hand through the weapons in emphasis.  "They would not go to the Realm with me," he said, and smiled wistfully.  "And what use would they avail me there? No, if Jarlaxle gave them to you, he must have had a good reason.  And I did write that journal you hold, though it seems incomplete."

            "Nalfein said so too," S'kaerik nodded, and immediately wished the mage was here. 

            "Nalfein is still alive?" Zaknafein seemed amused.  "And you know him? That is very interesting.  Send him my regards.  I wish to go now."

            "Um, thanks for everything.  I really appreciate your help.  And it's really been an honour to meet you."

            Zaknafein shrugged.  "Farewell," he said tersely, then stared pointedly at Derin.

            Derin bowed to him, and then performed another ritual that sent Zaknafein away. 

            "He did not seem very interested as to why I had the journal," S'kaerik mused, when everything was back to normal.

            "The dead from those Realms generally aren't very interested in anything happening in the Material Plane." Derin said reassuringly.

            "So it's true he went to a 'happy place' like what Drizzt's journals claimed?"

            "Yes, though I have always doubted the tone of the conversation that apparently took place between them.  I have always ascribed it to fond embellishment on the part of the son, but from the attitude of Zaknafein to priests, I find it is possibly due to mismanagement from the priest Cadderly. 

            "Thanks a lot, Derin," S'kaerik said.  She seemed to be saying that a lot today.

            Derin chuckled.  "I was actually willing to do a lot more for that book, but you didn't know that."

            "I'd pretend I didn't hear that, either." S'kaerik grinned.

**

            "Greetings, Nalfein," Jarlaxle said, carefully making his tone cheerful enough to just verge on the point of being irritating, and then bowed before entering the reading room. 

            Nalfein barely looked up from his book.  "Why are you here?"

            "I wished merely to check in on you…"

            "If you have any questions, just ask and be gone," Nalfein said curtly, muttering as he ran his finger along a line in the book. 

            "I was wondering if you were well, since you did not see S'kaerik off at the station."  Jarlaxle said, adding some vague curiosity into his voice so as to make the old mage think he was only asking out of idle concern.

            "I am always… well," Nalfein said.  "And that is none of your business."

            "Your state of health, or S'kaerik…"

            "Both."

            "She asked where you were, actually."

            Nalfein looked up sharply at Jarlaxle, who kept his face straight.  "She asked about me?"

            "Oh yes, I had to tell her you were busy."

            "What?"

            "I assumed that if you did not wish to see her off, you would not want her to try and find you to see if you were well.  And her train was leaving."

            Nalfein glared at Jarlaxle, but the mercenary's expression had not changed. 

            "Did I say something wrong?" Jarlaxle asked mildly.  The trick was to add a sufficient amount of mischievous curiosity into the question so as to make Nalfein think that his poking around was impromptu due to slips on Nalfein's part, and not another of his meticulously constructed schemes.  Acting was just a little part of the fun.  "Of course, if there was some misunderstanding, I could arrange to contact S'kaerik at her University."

            "No, no need," Nalfein said, frowning.  "Will she be returning?"

            "It has not been confirmed, but reports say the dwarves are for it.  Though it is likely that whether or not she can return for extended periods of time directly depends on your attitude towards the sanctity of your library."

            "They wish to trade visiting rights?" Nalfein raised an eyebrow.

            "I meant that if you did allow any surfacer to enter your library, they might dispense with her services in Sshamath altogether and return her to Menzoberranzan," Jarlaxle said, circumspectly prodding Nalfein's mind towards the correct decisions.  "Not that it would be inconvenient to her Company, since the Menzoberranzan dwarves are those who are the loudest in asking for her return."

            Nalfein sighed, as if one of his suspicions had been confirmed.  "I had thought of that."

            "The dwarves say she might return in a few months or so, depending on the trains and developments." Jarlaxle tipped his hat.  "I have to take my leave now."

            "Just go away," Nalfein said, too absently to put any real threat into his words.

            Rather satisfied, Jarlaxle did so with another elaborate bow, congratulating himself once he exited the pocket plane.  His eye patch and various magical devices that Nalfein was getting quite emotional, something that Jarlaxle had never seen happen on such a scale since he had known the mage, and that was highly gratifying.  Besides, the mercenary had observed Nalfein scrupulously avoid looking at S'kaerik's chair. 

            Now to play a little more with the Company's decisions… Jarlaxle weighed, thoughtfully, possible outcomes from S'kaerik returning in a few months versus a year or two, as he wandered over to his office.

**

            S'kaerik sighed.  "But Ma…"

            Her mother, a relatively old Weyr-Cat, smiled and gave her the Look again.  "Dear, your father and I only want to see your good friends."  Mother's tail had twitched at the word 'friends', rather unjustly so, S'kaerik thought.  She had omitted the kiss and the hug and, um, such, so she did not see why her mother had to immediately give her that Look.  Her father, on the other hand, was gazing at her with benign interest, and had no real idea as to what his mate was implying. 

            "I'd have some difficulty extricating him from his library, let alone the Underdark," S'kaerik said dryly.   
            "You should bring all your good friends home for dinner," Mother said, vaguely repeating herself and returning them to the first part of their conversation.  Like humans, Weyr-Cats tended to age mentally continuously as their bodies aged.    

            "We don't eat people anymore," S'kaerik grinned.

            "That wasn't what I meant, dear," Mother said, with a hint of reproach.  "Though, not to criticize you or anything, but have you made any other Cat friends in the Underdark? Making friends is very important…" After her parents had entered late Age as Weyr-Cats considered it, they had mysteriously decided to see S'kaerik and her older brother as perpetual adolescents, and spoke to them as such.  They also treated S'kaerik's fascination with elves with a sort of benevolent bewilderment, and always attempted, rather transparently, to point her towards the Right Direction. 

            Her older brother, H'ienrik, grinned mischievously and cuffed her playfully on the shoulder.  "That's very right, isn't it, Sister?  But everything sounds very romantic."

            S'kaerik glared at him.  "What does?"

            "I can scarce conceal my mixed feelings regarding the profound plight of my beloved sister," H'ienrik said dramatically.  He did everything dramatically, since it was even his day job – a well-known, highly talented actor.  "Something so great as to surpass species boundaries and the obstacles of age… it will be a ballad to carry down the ages… ouch!"

            S'kaerik had cuffed him back a lot harder, but had blushed furiously at his words before she could prevent herself.  Thankfully, only H'ienrik seemed to notice, and, as he started to laugh in genuine delight, S'kaerik wished that the rule against killing family members did not exist.