Manx

by Greg Curtis

  There was something else that caught his attention – drapes on the far wall. Why he wondered would you have drapes in a basement? Drapes covered windows, and he couldn't think of any reason you would have a window in a basement. All it would have a view of was dirt! So what were the drapes covering? He hoped it wasn't a doorway leading to another room.

  “I've got the hose,” Peth called out from above.

  “Good, pass it down.” Manx reached out for the hose. And when he had it in his hands he felt ready for the next part of his plan. “Danvers, you're with me – but neither of us is going into that basement. Not a toe crosses into it. Understood?”

  The sorcerer nodded as he was helped down into the trench beside Manx. And then both of them took their places on the outside of the stone wall that had once been the side of the stairwell, peering through the doorway where the landing at the bottom of the stairs had met the basement.

  Then Manx opened the nozzle and let the water flow into the room.

  “What are you doing?” Sigrid called out from above, where she was watching the whole thing nervously.

  “Flooding the basement of course,” he replied.

  “But you could damage the window!”

  “It's a window. It's survived a little water now and again,” he reminded her. “And it's off the ground.” And while she kept looking on nervously, he kept pouring the water out over the floor. He didn't stop until it was all gone and the basement floor was completely covered.

  “Now what?” Danvers asked, as unflappable as ever.

  “Now you freeze the water,” Manx told him. “Turn it to ice to jam up the mechanisms in the floor so not a single one of those floor stones moves.”

  The sorcerer nodded, understanding and then set to work, holding out his hands and concentrating. A moment later Manx could feel the chill in the air around him. But he didn't mind that too much. Not when he saw the small lake of water covering the basement floor slowly freezing.

  “This is the strangest burglary I've ever seen,” one of the others called out from above. “Have you ever done this before?”

  “No, of course not.” Manx answered the man. “I'm not a thief!”

  A few minutes later the floor of the basement was a frozen lake, the ice glistening in the glow from the magic globes and Manx was more or less certain they could walk on it safely. But he wasn't about to do that, no matter how desperate the shamans were as they looked down from the top of the trench.

  “There's still more traps,” he told them. And then he turned to his sorcerer. “You think you can use a gust of wind to lift that canvas sheet off the window?”

  Danvers nodded and then concentrated and a moment later Manz could see the sheet lifting.

  Blinding white light burst out inside the basement and Manx just had time to grab the wizard and throw both of them to the ground on the other side of the basement wall before people started yelling. He didn't know what the light was, but he knew it was dangerous. He also knew that even with thick stone wall between him and it, the light was still blinding him. But there was nothing to do except lie there on the dirt and pray. Ironically in his case, to Freda.

  At least nothing was hurting, he realised as he lay on the dirt. The wall obviously provided some protection from whatever was happening inside. But above he could hear the others panicking. Some of the light must have escaped the basement he guessed, and they were shouting and running. Maybe even throwing themselves to the grass as well.

  Eventually the light faded and he was left lying on the dirt, his arms wrapped around the sorcerer, starting to see again. But not well. There were spots and colours and flashes of green and red swimming in his vision, hiding most of the world from him.

  It was a good ten minutes before he felt strong enough to slap Danvers on the shoulder and then start getting to his feet. A few more again before he was willing to look inside the basement.

  There things had changed. There was no canvas sheet for a start. No window either. But more importantly, no floor. Or at least no stones. The ice had gone and the stones had somehow been polished smooth. So smooth that what he was looking at was a perfectly flat expanse of gleaming stone. Obviously the light had done more than simply shaved off the top layer of the stones, it had somehow melted them together. And it had done the same to the walls until what remained looked like polished concrete.

  “The window! It's gone!” Danvers cried out in shock.

  “No it's not,” he told the sorcerer. “That wasn't the window. It was a decoy. Mean to kill anyone who tried to take it.”

  “Then?”

  “The drapes.” Manx pointed at them as they hung on the far wall. Noticing for a start that they were still there. All around them the stone walls had been polished smooth, but the drapes still hung there, completely untouched by whatever that light had been. Obviously they had been designed to withstand it.

  “Alright, lets try it again,” he told Danvers, certain that the man wouldn't ever want to hear those words. “A gentle breeze to lift them, and we stay behind the stone wall at all times.” He didn't want to be blinded again.

  But he wasn't blinded. No burst of unimaginably bright light burst out, and the drapes just fluttered in the breeze. In time they even came down to reveal what he'd expected to see. The most absurd sight. A window in a basement wall with nothing but dirt on the other side. A wall of dirt.

  It looked very much like the windows in his cottage Manx thought. Six panes of glass, held together in a plain white wooden flame with a solid sill at the top at the top and the bottom. But then Freda from what he remembered from his scripture, had been a humble woman in life, different from her peers in only one respect – a burning desire for knowledge inside her. That made sense. What didn't was why they'd built the window into a basement wall.

  “Alright, you think you can cut it out and float it across to us?”

  “Easy,” the sorcerer answered him and then began work, sending some sort of ray from his fingertips into the stone and slowly cutting a channel into it.

  It must be nice to have magic like that, Manx thought. Not like the strange stuff he could do, but actual spells. To move things around with a thought, and create light and summon creatures instead of just mist like him. Sorcerers truly were blessed.

  He was still thinking that when the channels in the stone met up and with a crack the window came free, and then began floating slowly across the room.

  Moments later the window had floated past the two of them and was lifting up into the arms of the impatient and excited shamans, and Manx knew his work was done. He had found the window, rescued it, and most important of all, no one had been harmed. This was a good days work. Even if the window didn't seem that impressive as treasures went.

  But maybe he was wrong about that, he thought when he caught a glimpse of the sun behind it shining through the glass. Because when it did he was almost sure he could see a woman in it. More than that, a woman staring straight at him.

  It was only a glimpse. He saw her for less than a second. And yet her eyes somehow stayed with him. Her stare reached into him. And for a moment he felt himself judged. Weighed and measured. Assessed, much as he did a battered library book when he was given one to repair.

  What was that?! Manx didn't know. But he didn't like it. Even if it was the Goddess of Knowledge. He felt small and somehow naked. Like a naughty child caught with his fingers in the baking. It disturbed him.

  Fortunately it was over quickly. Gone before he could even complain, or warn the others. And then he was happy to accept a hand to clamber out of the trench. Happier still to be nowhere near the basement of the folly. It was too dangerous there. And it was much safer on the grass. He felt better standing on it.

  But there was still one thing to do he realised as he brushed himself off.

  “Lets bring this place down,” he called to the others. It wasn't part of what they'd come to do. It surely wasn't what the owners of the estate expected them to do. Bu
t it had to be done.

  “What?” Peth looked at him with a question in his eyes.

  “There were so many traps in that basement that I can't be sure that they've all been deactivated. And it would be wrong to leave something this dangerous still standing for people to explore. So lets bring it down.”

  He would have added more, but a fireball ripped out from the fingers of one of the sorcerers and vanished into the basement and a moment later the entire building collapsed down into the basement in an angry explosion. Damn it would be nice to have magic like that!

  After that all there was to do was to go back to the gliders – and maybe apologise to the owners of the estate for destroying their folly. Though really he thought, he'd done them a favour. It had been an eyesore. And besides now it was in keeping with most of the rest of the estate!

  The group headed off at a leisurely pace back towards the gliders, trailing behind the shamans and their precious window. They were practically running with it, moving quickly enough that their ears were waggling up and down. Obviously, he thought, this had been a good day for them. A precious artefact, lost for nearly five centuries, returned. They would be happy.

  But the real question was what would the window show them? How would it help? He wasn't sure. But as Whitey jumped up, ran up his coat and then made herself comfortable in his hood by his neck, he decided he didn't care. He had done his part and he was pleased with that. The rest was up to others.

  “So,” Whitey asked him, “when do we eat?”

  Chapter Thirty Six

  She was stronger now. The days of rest and the endless potions that the healers kept pouring down her throat seemed to have helped. But was she strong enough to return to the southern front? Sorsha wasn't sure.

  But at least they now had four more walkers to help them maintain the portal barriers if and when the spiders did attack. More druids and sorcerers too. Time was helping them, and more of those who had been freed were growing strong enough to fight. Whether they would have to fight or not, she didn't know. She imagined it depended on how hungry the spiders became.

  And she'd sent another walker and a shaman to help with the party as they travelled the realm freeing their people. Adern was recovering some of his health but the reports from the healers were that it would be a long time if ever before he was able to return to work. And the reports she kept getting told her that Larissa was ageing too.

  Meanwhile they'd had a victory with the recovery of the window. But what sort of victory it was, she didn't know. No one did. The shamans of Freda had simply vanished with the window and failed to tell anyone anything about where they were going or what they'd gained. Sorsha was glad for them having got their artefact back, but she would have been happier if it could have helped them in some way. Unfortunately she doubted it would. They'd learned about the window from the cats and everyone knew you couldn't trust a cat.

  Maybe Lady Marshendale would know. But even as she thought that, Sorsha knew the damned woman wouldn't tell her anything without being forced to. Which was why the soothsayers were standing by. She was a frustrating woman.

  But as she came out of the gaol, in chains and escorted by two sorcerers, Sorsha realised she was something else – old. Time was passing for all of them, but for her it was racing. The woman looked to be in her eighties and almost bent double with it. She couldn't have long left to live.

  “You!” the prisoner cackled at her, her voice little more than a rasping sound. “Aren't you dead yet?!”

  “Apparently not,” Sorsha replied. “But you don't look to be far off that.”

  “Filthy whore!”

  Sorsha shook her head sadly. She was an odious woman. And there was no hope of redeeming her. Only letting her pass from this world along with the rest of the Silver Order. But before that happened there were still things she wanted to know. And first and foremost she wanted to know about the window. She nodded to the two soothsayers who immediately stepped up to stand behind the prisoner and place their hands on her shoulder.

  “So tell me about the window,” she began, not wanting to waste any time with irrelevancies.

  “Tell me how many of you monsters died trying to get it!” Lady Marshendale managed a smile.

  “None. You forget, we have a Smythe. So why did you steal it? And why did you install it in the basement of a folly?”

  “It was dangerous to us!” the woman replied, not even trying to resist the will of the soothsayers. Maybe she was learning that she couldn't. “It shows more than knowledge. It shows the truth – and lies. And it shows true forms. The shamans of Freda were already suspicious of us. If they had marched any of us past that window our natures would have been revealed to them and our secrets exposed.”

  “And the installing of it in a basement?”

  “The window only works when light passes through it. If it was installed in a wall with dirt on the other side, no light could pass through it to reach the eyes of those seeing it.”

  That made sense, Sorsha thought. And the soothsayers weren't showing any sign that she was fighting them. But that still left her with an obvious question.

  “But you didn't destroy it?”

  “We didn't dare. It might only be a minor artefact of a faith for a poxy second rate goddess, but you don't dare upset the divine regardless.” She suddenly stared hard at Sorsha. “Not a one of you sports was hurt?”

  “Not a one,” Sorsha agreed, happy to disappoint her. “And the window was recovered unharmed. But the shamans of Freda took it away. Any idea why?”

  “It's an article of their faith?” the woman began. Then she gasped and started struggling against the weight bearing down on her. She was lying!

  “And for the faithful and the shamans, it reveals the will of the Goddess,” she finally added.

  “The will?”

  “Freda's instructions to her followers and the world.”

  “Oh!” Sorsha understood that, she supposed. There were plenty of artefacts in the world that purported to put someone in contact with the gods and goddesses. The window – the Pane of Freda – was no different in that respect. Whether the artefacts actually did what they claimed to or not, was another matter. But what she didn't understand was why the Silver Order should care? She asked.

  “Freda's the Goddess of Knowledge and Wisdom. She threatened to expose all our secrets. But without the window, her shamans and priests and clerics were hamstrung in their search. They didn't have her guidance to help them find it.”

  Maybe that was true. Sorsha couldn't be certain. The soothsayers were suggesting that it was again only a half truth. But if it was true then maybe even now the shamans were busy refitting the window into the wall of the abbey where it belonged, and would soon by learning everything they could of the Silver Order. That was probably a good thing. Though of course it was too late – unless it told them how to heal her people.

  But what about the fire seen burning on the other side of the window? The cats had all said that very thing. And while now she knew it wasn't the magic and the life of the spell-casters but rather the magic of the Smythes that the verse was talking about, she was still curious. But when she asked Lady Marshendale all she got back was a blank stare. The woman didn't know. Which left her with the other question – the one that probably mattered more.

  “Do you control the spiders?”

  “No.” The woman stared at her angrily. “They don't attack us. They sense something, some kinship. It lets us obtain the venom. Or it did. Now I'm not so sure it would anymore. They've been restless these past few decades, and we've been weak.”

  “So you can't command them to attack?”

  “No.”

  “Damn!” That wasn't the answer that Sorsha had been hoping for. Not that she wanted the spiders to attack, but she'd hoped that if they could order them to do that they could also order them to stop. And there were sightings on the southern border that troubled them. Spiders massing outside more of the cities. Maybe the
y were growing hungry. But that was not something she wanted to think about.

  “They're massing, aren't they?!” The woman smiled savagely. “You've upset them, and now you don't have the strength to stop them?!” Her smile grew. “By the gods I'm glad I won't be around to see it when they eat their way through Redmond!”

  “Take her away!” Sorsha snapped at the guards. But immediately she did it she was angry with herself for being so rude. For losing control. But she couldn't stand the woman just then. Actually gloating about the potential deaths of millions. Maybe tens or even hundreds of millions. And from an enemy the Silver Order themselves had created. It was just so wrong! The woman truly was pond scum!

  But knowing that didn't solve their problems she knew as she watched the woman being taken back to her cell. And the only thing that did was an option she hadn't wanted to consider. They were going to have to speak with the Court. They were going to need their great skyships. And this time they were going to have to make sure they didn't start a war.