Most other reports had a warning, or an incident report, or anything.
The file for Aronia Buxus's assignment contained almost nothing.
A dangerous artifact could be studied.
A poorly understood artifact could be researched.
An artifact that nobody had managed to learn anything about in four months was another matter entirely.
She looked up at the enormous door.
The wardens had remained a respectful distance behind her.
"Has anyone examined it directly?" she asked.
"No."
"Huh."
The wardens exchanged another glance.
"The High Archivist hasn't assigned anyone to it yet."
That finally got her attention.
The Archives housed hundreds of researchers, and not one had been allowed to put their hands on it?
For the first time that morning, she felt something that might almost have been excitement.
Or concern.
With artifacts, the distinction was often difficult to identify.
She stepped toward the door.
The containment runes shimmered faintly.
Behind several feet of reinforced metal, something waited.
Four months.
No conclusions. No classification. No explanation.
Of course she didn't immediately open Vault Seventeen.
That would have been irresponsible.
Opening mysterious containment chambers without authorization tended to generate astonishing amounts of paperwork, and she didn't want to file all of it.
So, instead, she climbed several hundred stairs to the upper levels of the Moony Archives, which were considerably more pleasant than the lower ones.
Even the air seemed cleaner and warm.
The corridors were brighter. And fewer objects attempted to communicate with passersby, most of the time anyway.
Aronia eventually arrived at a large oak door bearing an elaborate brass plaque.
The plaque read:
HIGH ARCHIVIST IBERIS GERANIUM
Below that, in smaller letters:
Please knock.
And beneath that, in noticeably newer lettering:
The Door Is Not Cursed.
She knocked.
"Enter before I have to pretend to be busy!" a voice called.
Aronia pushed the door open.
The office looked exactly as she remembered.
Books covered every available surface.
Stacks of reports occupied every chair.
Several maps had been pinned to walls.
Behind a desk sat Iberis Geranium.
The High Archivist was an elderly man with unruly white hair and spectacles sliding down his nose. Their glass is far thicker than Aronia's own.
He was currently staring at a document.
Without looking up, he spoke.
"Good news."
"Oh?"
"I haven't needed to sign any death, insanity, or missing reports this month."
Aronia took a seat.
"That is good news."
"A remarkably quiet month."
Iberis finally looked up. "That expression... What is it? Have you found anything interesting?"
"Vault Seventeen."
Iberis immediately groaned. A very long groan. He leaned back in his chair, which produced another groan.
"That thing."
"That thing?" Aronia asked.
"You want permission to examine it."
"Yes."
The High Archivist stared at the ceiling. He adjusted his spectacles.
That alone was unusual.
The High Archivist possessed strong opinions on nearly every subject in existence.
Given sufficient time, he could deliver a lecture on the proper method of organizing shelving records.
Silence was not one of his common habits.