1633880583 (F) by Chris Willrich Page A

even more colorfully as the Drakkenskinnen , after the origins of its bright leather.”
    “Then perhaps you know its danger,” Gaunt said. “We still don’t know who gave it to us in Qushkent, nor why, but perhaps it was meant never to be used. For if we can believe the book, it shows how to alter history.”
    “Causality may be an illusion,” Bone said, “like free will, true love, and the perfect heist. But I prefer to live in a world where such things can at least be dreamt of.”
    “And if the Chart of Tomorrows speaks true,” Gaunt said, “then the future can alter the past, and effect precede cause. Such a power dwarfs the little dangers posed by a magic sword, or an efrit, or a flying craft. That is why we brought it here for safekeeping.”
    “Will you respect that decision?” Bone asked. “Or will you try to make Qiangguo an empire that spans time?”
    “Peace,” said Walking Stick. “We need no such power. As I understand it the Chart spends considerable verbiage on the Bladed Isles. It is that knowledge I wish, not power over time. I need to know all I can, for A-Girl-Is-A-Joy’s sake. You have seen the mark upon her hand.”
    “It’s hard to trust you,” Gaunt said, who had seen the Runemark in two places, on Joy’s hand and within the Chart of Tomorrows .
    “It’s my price, then, for helping find Innocence.”
    “Is that how it is?” Bone said. He looked at Gaunt and shrugged.
    Gaunt nodded. “Very well. Perhaps we’ve had our fill being the keepers of dread magical things.”

    Before honoring Walking Stick’s request, she and Bone took full advantage of the accelerated time flow, for a night of lovemaking within the scroll would be negligible from Al-Saqr ’s point of view. They also got drunk on rice wine and played weiqi, though Bone kept getting the rules confused with chess. Crowded as the monastery was, it was like a palace compared to the gondola of the balloon.
    Refreshed, Gaunt and Bone awaited Walking Stick’s return in the upper chamber. Today was as bright as yesterday had been misty, and the blazing sunlight seemed to belie any thoughts of murky islands, dragon-prowed ships, fire, and doom. Far in the distance, unreachable miles away, a coiling, green-blue female dragon soared among the Peculiar Peaks. Such were seen now and again, but never had anyone here spoken with one. It seemed the Sage Painter had put no male dragons into the world of the scroll. Mating dragons produced conflagrations. Gaunt was thankful the conflagrations of human love remained metaphorical. Mostly.
    Walking Stick arrived with A-Girl-Is-A-Joy and Snow Pine.
    Gaunt patted a stool beside her. Joy sat. “Walking Stick said something about a book?”
    “Look here.”
    Gaunt showed Joy a tome bound in white leather. To see its spine and upper-left cover was to believe it a work of recent vintage, but on closer inspection it seemed weathered, damaged, ancient.
    Yet the wear and tear had a peculiar aspect. Beginning from the spine and upper left the book seemed new, yet scuffing, creasing, and flaking increased as one looked toward the lower right. Flip the book over, and one would see worse afflictions moving from the lower-left corner to the upper right. The back cover was ragged and peeling. In the upper-right quadrant it was shedding a red powder resembling rust.
    That much was odd in itself. But Gaunt had the strong impression that the exact pattern of ravages—a cut here, a flake there—changed each time she beheld it.
    Likewise, the early leaves of the book seemed freshly penned but looked progressively aged as one turned pages. The middle section had the faded but intact look of parchment preserved in dry air. The back section was a catalog of ruin, with some pages buckled, curled, and torn, others shrunken, molded, or burnt. And as with the cover, Gaunt had the impression that the collection of strange maps and writing changed subtly each time she looked. Coastlines changed shape; little