Page 47 of Sky and the Grumpy Troll

I perked up. “Do you, by any chance, know if this top secret matter might be named Pip? Pippin Crane. He’s a dancer like me, very cute.”

Moerrven narrowed his eyes at me.

“Not as cute as Moerrven, of course.”

Runhilda’s eyebrows shot up and she stared at Moerrven, eyes running up and down his tall frame as if she was trying to figure out how he might be cute.

“Runhilda,” Moerrven said. “Do you have news of Sky’s friend Pip?”

“Doesn’t sound familiar, but who knows? They didn’t bother to tell the poor librarian why they were requisitioning four shelves of her catalog. Something about a top secret matter, which I must not share the details of. Such a bother, all of it — the crates, the paperwork, the interruptions to my reading. Oh! Do you think this counts as sharing details? I’ve heard the Queen has a penchant for ordering executions.”

“Don’t worry, your details have been so vague that I’m still not even sure what you’re talking about,” I said. “I’m sure the Queen could find no faults. And by requisition, you mean…”

“I’ve handed them over, dear. Straight into the claws of the Queen’s top advisor, Lord Frost. Came to collect them in his other form, he did. And it’s been decades since anyone’s seen him stretch his wings. He wouldn’t breathe a word about why, just said it was a matter of utmost importance to the Crown. Swept in and out before I could ask half my questions.”

I blinked. “To the Queen? But why?”

“No idea, like I said. Top secret!” Runhilda mimed zipping her lips. I was beginning to wonder if she knew what top secret meant.

“So can we have him fly the books back?” I asked.

Runhilda gasped, horrified, and Moerrven gave a polite cough. “We cannot request anything of the Queen’s most trusted advisor, Sky. He is dangerous, powerful, and not to be trifled with.”

“What about other copies?”

“These are old texts, and copies are very rare. Only a few exist in all the world, so the Great Archive doesn’t keep spares,” she said. “I had intended to transcribe them eventually, but one focuses on the realistic accounts first, you know, not the wild, impossible stories of traveling through a hole in space and time to a land occupied only by giant lizards. Of all the things to imagine!”

The hope that had been building in my chest collapsed.

“So the information isn’t here?”

“The originals are in the royal collection at Feravael. However—” Runhilda frowned at us. “If you’re looking for substantial material on this subject, I’m surprised you didn’t stop at the library in Frostholm.”

Moerrven’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Frostholm?”

“Yes. The village library there is small, but the librarian is my cousin Kethilda. She has had a particular academic interest in unusual travel accounts for decades. I’m sure they’re fairy tales, but sometimes you find a gem of truth inside the myths. She has her own copies of every text she can find on the subject.” Runhilda looked between us. “You came through Frostholm and didn’t stop at the library?”

“It is a very small library,” Moerrven said.

“Size is irrelevant to a collection’s value, Mossren. I would have thought a novelist would understand that.”

“So six days’ travel, all wasted?” I asked. The light, the wonder, the hand holding were all draining away, replaced by the cold arithmetic of lost time. Pip had been without me for six days longer than necessary.

Moerrven’s face went pale.

“Six days?” Runhilda said. “It’s less than a day, just across the Gorge.”

I turned to look at him. He would not meet my eyes.

“Less than a day,” I said. “Are you extending our journey for some reason? Don’t you understand that this is urgent?”

“The Greymere route can be—”

“Why didn’t we take it, Moerrven?”

“The new bridge is quite beautiful. Have you not been that way yet?” Runhilda asked. Then her eyes landed on Moerrven, and she blinked. “I will let you two discuss this.”

With that, she turned and shut the door to her office.