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Sophie would like it on the record that, when she accepted the job, she didn't know that the Librarian had to do so much bloody politics. She could be out healing the sick, like Natan in his day. She would love to be out healing the sick. Instead, she's in one of the innumerable studies of Hush House, searching for a book for Hokobald, even though she wishes dearly that she could toss him out on his shiny arse. She doesn't mind helping out Yvette, or Arun, or really most of the others. It's just Hokobald in particular who should really go fuck himself. But it is her duty to remain strictly neutral, and she takes that duty seriously. So she'll find his damned book, and watch like a hawk while he reads it. And should he happen to violate that neutrality himself, well, she might have a few things in her pockets to introduce him to. (Swaddled Thunder isn't casual to make, nor the Rubywise Ruin in case of violence. But she's made them enough to feel they're replaceable, at least.)
Sophie freezes for a moment–
(it's not as if she's a graverobber, they're not here by choice, and diplomatic truth-telling is usually a good first choice)
"–We are wanderers, here by magical accident, seeking neither desecration nor treasure but only escape. My humblest apologies for our trespass."
The voice is silent, for a few moments, the stone eyes focusing on the three of them.
"...Wanderers, yes. Two Angel-Daughters, From The Dragon Empires," it booms in their minds, looking at Ridaya and Luto, "And... You, Songbitten, Are Very Far From Home."
(It's loud, but it's not angry. It sounds curious, and tired.)
"...I am," she admits. "Not by choice. Perhaps to the good, regardless. My Library will gain many strange works, if nothing else."
(She wonders whether this entity's familiarity implies prior contact between her home and this world. Perhaps one of the Roost wintered here?)
The sarcophogus nods.
"Angel-Daughters, Songbitten, You Who Are Neither Thieves Nor Pilgrims... I Have A Request."
(Ridaya nods hesitantly, trying and failing to keep her eyes from watering. It sounds so sad...)
"I Am - I Was Khetamun, The Second Starkeeper. My Request Is This: Travel To A Temple Of The Mother Of Souls. Speak My Name There."
The face on the sarcophogus looks so tired. "Set Me Free."
"That seems eminently reasonable."
So why does she have a sinking feeling? Is it merely that "mother of souls" is an ominous name? No – she's never heard it before. But what she has heard...
"...that woman yesterday, with the... scarf. She served a goddess who claimed dominion over all souls. Is that the same entity who bears this epithet?" she asks Ridaya (and Luto!) quietly.
...Yeah, that's Pharasma. Ridaya nods at Sophie. "Don't worry," she whispers.
Then she steps forward, hands clasped together.
"I will see this done for you, Second Starkeeper Khetamun. The Mother of Souls will hear your name."
A tension seems to leave the sarcophagus.
"Thank You, Angel-Daughter. Your Kindness Will Not Go Unrewarded."
Khetamun raises a hand.
There's a feeling of gathering power in the air, noticeable to Sophie pretty quickly.
Then, a beam of soft golden light traces a path from Khetamun's raised hand onto the ceiling, where it splits into a series of interlinked geometric lines that lead out of the room back the way they came.
"The Way Is Open, Now. And For Your Aid, I Offer You These Tokens."
A small ornate chest fades into existence in front of them.
"Now Go In Peace, Travellers. And..."
"Tread Carefully, Songbitten. The Rules Are Different, Here. And The Rest Of You Is Too Far Away To Help."
The sarcophagus's eyes close.
Ridaya turns to Sophie. "Are you okay?"
(...she wants to ask about the thing Khetamun said at the end, but she doesn't know if it'd be rude or not.)
"Yes... yes, I'm fine. Just, you know – it's always disconcerting to be... known, like that."
Hmmm. Ridaya isn't sure she does know, actually. "That was... a very old spirit, I think," she says softly. "I've never met anything similar."
She offers Sophie a hug on autopilot; that's her default reassuring-close-ally action.
Sophie half-laughs, a little shakily. "Half my clients, back home, would pull that same kind of silly trick. Sophie Hatter, born from nothing to Birdsong, soon to burn your breakfast, I have come seeking a copy of Kitling Ripe and the Moldywarp's Grave, and don't you be pokey about it! The thing they don't tell you about occult entities, you know, they act like spoiled children..."
She evades the hug by reflex.