His work did not take up much of his time. It was a necessary duty that he had to carry out so that he could spend the rest of his time doing what he loved, but he came to resent it as a petty encroachment on the graceful and intelligent world where he existed on an entirely different plane. How could anyone think it fair to ask a man who had already spanned the Known World with his ravenous mind to catalog new scrolls or copy out an excerpt from a dusty old tract on the art of cookery? His superiors at the archive seemed intent on finding ever more primitive tasks for Uni, blatantly exploiting his kind, compliant nature.
On this particular day, for example, he wondered wistfully why they had to send him to carry a copy of some pointless romantic ballad to the client who ordered it. He knew the answer: Gergius and his elderly accomplices at the archive contrived to save on couriers because they hoped to put some of those savings in their own pockets. The only exception to this rule was Barko, with whom Uni shared a love of foreign languages and an utterly impractical outlook on life (both highly unusual qualities for subjects of the empire). If Barko was looking for him that late in the day, it was probably not for a minor task. Uni hoped it wasnt an errand that would take him all the way across the city. He had an important event scheduled for the evening, perhaps the most important event in his life.
At the thought of Siana, the young archivist seemed to grow falcons wings and flew down the labyrinth of hallways, making turn after turn from memory, up and down stairs and through doors with heavy, ornate metal locks. Siana was the one and only girl for him. It was the kind of infatuation that can start with a glance and conquer forever the heart of a sensitive young man. Mystically unattainable, it was a vision of love that thrilled the mind and fired the blood. It was love unexplored, unearthly, and all-consuming.
Uni was proud of himself because, unlike the abstract multitude of young men who sat around sighing about their obsessions, he had finally found the strength to progress along the fragile path toward intimacy with the object of his dreams. And now, after almost two years of playing at sidelong glances, formal greetings (during which his chest nearly burst from the wild beating of his heart), and tactful hints concerning matters of great subtlety, he had taken a deep breath (now or never!) and asked the girl of his dreams to meet him in the gardens of Archomena at the changing of the seventh watch.
City dwellers loved the gardens of Archomena because they seemed to have been designed to give young people sufficient privacy to conduct their social lives while actually remaining in clear view of anyone who walked by. This allowed young women to maintain their reputations and relieved young men of the trouble of finding a place to sit in peace with a girl one had just met.
The customs of the capital, which ought to have been very strict because of the proximity of the most holy sites for worshiping the Heavenly Deity, were, in fact, much more tolerant of natural human weakness than those touted by the patriarchal style of the Herandian provinces. In the first decades of the Empires existence, the priests of the Sun had attempted to control morals and relations between the sexes, but as Enteveria became a large, cosmopolitan city, the priests had encountered resistance in the form of deceit, sabotage, and open protest. In the end, the citys religious leaders decided it was pointless to bail water from a sinking boat and revised their strictures to something simple: Anything is permitted that does not offend the Lord of the Sky. In simple terms, that meant once the sun went down, the city became unrecognizable. Some of the livelier citizens also decided that well-drawn curtains were the moral equivalent of nightfall.
As a typical romantic, Uni saw such goings-on as a crude attack on his pure dream world, and he rejected them utterly. He felt that intimacy with his beloved would be entirely different, something holy, something that strived toward the light.
With these thoughts in mind his eyes focused on the world outside the dusty archive he ran smack into an unexpected guest who had been peaceably conversing with senior master Barko.
Youre a strange one, Uni, his superior commented in a voice that was both kindly and patronizing. You either disappear for who knows how long, or you knock a man off his feet.
The words tripped over Unis tongue as he apologized. He awkwardly put his fists to his chest and then held out his right arm as he bowed low, making the traditional Herandian display of respect look somewhat comic and depriving it of the elegance that any courtier would have displayed in a similar situation. Blushing deeply, he raised his eyes to see who had fallen victim to his detachment from the real world and let out a sigh of relief. The late-comer was Manelius Ronko, an advisor to the Heavenly Throne and a great lover of ancient manuscripts. His handsome, almond-shaped eyes gazed at Uni with humor and not the slightest sign of annoyance.
Enel Ronko, this is our best and most gifted employee, Unizel Virando. Barko cleared his throat. I believe you are already acquainted.
Ronko bowed his head. Barko, my friend, I will be doubly grateful if you will show us to a quiet corner where we can talk in private, he said, looking around as if he had just noticed they were standing in a hallway.
Ronko followed the young archivist to a small alcove that was used for copying lists and cataloging books. The imperial advisor carried himself with great dignity, and his lips were set in a condescending smile. He wore a richly colored robe that fell to his heels, with wide sleeves that engulfed his arms and required him to move with solemnity. As he walked, Ronko swept his bent arms forward and to the side, as if drawing his companions attention to the shelves and boxes of scrolls containing ancient wisdom. Ronko was entirely unaware that he was posing, and it did not bother Uni at all. He had first met Ronko three years prior, and he was continually amazed by the mans desire for individual enlightenment, an unusual trait for a courtier of his stature.
Courtiers and wealthy men of an intellectual bend often visited the archive to collect crumbs of knowledge they could use to show off in their next report, or snatches of poetry they could recite to impress their lovers. On occasion, they ordered copies of ancient tracts with titles like Strategies for Skirmishing with Barbarians and other Enemies, which were an obligatory element in the personal libraries of educated men throughout the empire. However, they rarely visited the archive in person. Instead, they had couriers who dropped off notes, picked up orders, and delivered them to the clients homes.
Uni had often delivered such orders. He disliked running errands, but he found a bit of enjoyment in visiting the homes of wealthy clients and collecting even the tiniest bit of information about the secrets that motivated their reading choices. This was one of his few strong points in conversations with friends. Who would have guessed that Loe Vinyaki, the war ministers melancholy and unapproachable senior assistant, was a secret fan of the poems of Ulinian poetess Levia Sui, and that he owned a complete collection of her lyrics on unrequited love? Or that the successful merchant Kramath Segnoe, a handsome ladies man, had read everything the archive contained on remedies for better virility? On the other hand, no one was surprised to learn that Licisium Dorgoe, one of the Emperors closest and most beloved advisors, filled his reports with quotes Uni had taken for him from ancient works on the art of governance.