The Death of the Necromancer

by Martha Wells

  "Correct. The situation doesn’t call for suicide," Nicholas said, a brow lifting ironically. "But should we be cornered, there can’t be that much difficulty. After all, I am related to the man who killed the sorcerer Urbain Grandier."

  "As I remember the story Alsene shot him in the back, from a distance," Reynard said dryly, folding his arms.

  "That would be my preference as well."

  "Hmm." Reynard stroked his mustache and said consideringly, "How does one dress for the sewer?"

  Nicholas started to answer but Madeline stood suddenly, saying, "Nicholas, I’m going with you, not Reynard."

  They both turned to stare at her.

  She seemed to realize she would at least have to clarify her position. "There are a number of reasons. One of which is that we know Edouard’s sphere works for me and we don’t know that it will work for anyone else, and there’s no time to make a suitable test. I assume there will still be ghouls in the sewers."

  She paused, as if to give him leave to interrupt at this point, but Nicholas kept silent. He had never been spoken to in this tone by anyone not holding a pistol trained on him and he found himself unwillingly fascinated. He wondered if she would mention Madele.

  After a polite interval, Madeline continued, showing no sign of being disconcerted by his silence, "I could threaten, I could shout. I could follow you or delay you if you try to stop me. But I’m not going to do any of those things. I’m just going with you."

  Nicholas waited but that seemed to be all. He cleared his throat. "That would mean Reynard would have to attempt to contact Albier and Captain Giarde."

  Her mouth tightened. She must know Reynard had been acquainted with Giarde from his days as a cavalry officer and Nicholas had to admit it was a low blow. Dryly, she said, "I don’t think Reynard’s sensibilities are as delicate as yours."

  Reynard and Nicholas exchanged another look. I know she just insulted both of us but I’m not sure how, Nicholas thought. He said, "You almost fainted from the stench when we went into the sewer from the prison." He was aware he sounded accusing. And ineffectual.

  "You were ill when you saw the carnage in Valent House," she retorted. "I’d say that makes us even."

  Nicholas took a deep breath for calm, then looked at Reynard, who said immediately, "This is your decision. I’m not in the middle of this."

  The problem was that she was right about the sphere. Once they found the sorcerer’s hiding place they would certainly be pursued; it could mean the difference between getting out alive and perishing nobly. Nicholas wasn’t fond of the idea of dying heroically, alone or in company.

  "We’re running out of time," Madeline said softly.

  "There’s something I need to tell you both first." Nicholas folded the map slowly. Regardless of which of them went, he wanted them to know what they might be facing. "I don’t think this sorcerer is a man pretending, to himself and everyone else, to be Constant Macob."

  Madeline frowned. Reynard looked confused. He said, "But I thought that was the conclusion indicated by everything we’d discovered."

  "It is," Nicholas assured him. "But I think he actually is Constant Macob."

  There was a moment of silence, then Reynard said, "He is Macob, but not in the flesh, you mean?"

  Cusard groaned and covered his face.

  "Not in the flesh," Nicholas agreed. "Not anymore."

  "You mean Edouard’s device brought him back to life?" Madeline asked. She shook her head doubtfully.

  "Good. We’ll all need it later," Cusard muttered.

  "No, I don’t think Edouard’s device did that. Or at least, not yet." There was an uncomfortable silence as that sank in. "I think Octave must have been in contact with Macob before he obtained the sphere and the notes on Edouard’s work from Ilamires Rohan. I think Octave contacted, or was contacted by, Macob in one of Octave’s earlier attempts at spiritualism. Macob used his sorcery to discover things of benefit to Octave. Necromancy is, after all, primarily concerned with divination and the discovery of secret knowledge. One of the things Macob discovered for Octave was that Ilamires Rohan still had one of Edouard’s spheres. Octave blackmailed Rohan to get it then must have used the sphere to strengthen Macob’s connection with the living world." He paced away from the table. "Macob must be planning some way to make that connection permanent, to bring himself back to life. To do this he apparently needed to get his body, or whatever was left of it, out of that room below what used to be Ventarin House. He sent Octave to contact the Duchess of Mondollot, but he didn’t quite trust his accomplice. It was after all in Octave’s best interest to keep the business of holding circles and discovering hidden treasures going as long as possible. Macob must have realized that Octave never meant him to succeed. So Macob sent the ghouls he had made with his necromancy and they located and stole the corpse for him. But it must have startled Macob that we arrived in Mondollot’s cellars almost in time to witness the retrieval of the body, because he sent the golem of Octave to question my motives. He was afraid I had discovered that Octave was using Edouard’s sphere." He shook his head. "No, he didn’t want Octave to know what he really wanted, not at that point. He was playing at helping Octave with the spiritualism confidence game. I think it wasn’t until that night after the circle at Gabrill House that Octave began to suspect the truth. He wanted to tell Macob that someone had tried to follow his coach, so he went unexpectedly to Valent House. Perhaps he truly didn’t know the extent to which Macob had returned to his old practices until then. I only know that when I saw Octave at Lusaude’s the next night, he was very frightened."

  "But Macob’s had his body back for days," Madeline said, gesturing in frustration. "That can’t have been all he needed."

  "No, there is some other element still missing. Something that is presently in the palace."

  "The palace?" Reynard said, frowning. "What does the— Wait, you said Fontainon House was inside the palace wards. So Macob wanted Octave to hold a circle there and that would let Macob inside the wards and into the palace?".

  "I suggested as much to Captain Giarde," Nicholas agreed. "But there was no proof."

  "But what does Macob want there?"

  Nicholas shrugged. "I don’t have the slightest idea. The palace has been a home for sorcerers for hundreds of years. It could be anything. It might be something no one knows is there. No one except Macob." He looked at Madeline. "Do you still want to go?"

  "You shouldn’t have phrased it as a challenge," she said dryly.

  Reynard had already departed for the Prefecture and hopefully a meeting with Lord Albier. If he couldn’t convince Albier of the urgency of his errand, and if he avoided being thrown into a Prefecture cell, he would try an audience with Giarde directly. Nicholas had to admit that Reynard would be far more adept than Madeline at tackling the issue of Albier’s bullheaded stupidity without infuriating the official to the point where he had him arrested.

  After some hasty preparations, Cusard drove them in his wagon to the sewer entrance Nicholas wanted to start from. It was on a street with little traffic, lined with tenement apartments that were quiet during the day, with broad walks and potted trees that kept passersby at a distance. It was also very near to the Monde Street syphon.

  The wagon was drawn up in such a way as to block the view of the manhole and Nicholas checked through the waterproofed knapsack he had quickly packed, enduring Cusard’s doleful inquiries about extra candle stubs and matches.

  Madeline stood nearby, with the sphere wrapped in sacking and tucked under her arm. She looked more impatient to get started than anything else.

  Cusard followed his gaze, and muttered, "Take care of her ladyship there. And find Crack. I didn’t realize I’d gotten so used to the bloody bastard."

  "I will," Nicholas told him. "And don’t worry; if everything goes well, we shouldn’t be in much danger."

  "Don’t say that," Cusard demanded. "You’re tempting fate."

  They pried up the heavy metal cover
and Nicholas went down first to get the lamp lit in the shaft of mild sunlight from the opening. Madeline climbed down after him and he motioned for Cusard to slide the cover closed.

  As their eyes grew used to the darkness Nicholas could see this was one of the newest galleries. Their lantern revealed high brick-lined walls and a wide channel of dark flowing water. The walkway was clean and almost dry and there was only a faint trace of unpleasant odor.

  The sluice cart was tied to a ring set into the walkway, the current tugging at it. It was a small boat with metal plates mounted behind it that could be raised or lowered to control water flow around the craft and a pierced metal shield in front to flush the sewer channel. This cart was one used for inspections and had had its shield removed so it would travel faster. Nicholas had bribed one of his recent sewermen acquaintances to provide it and his explanation that he was an investigator assigned to discover information detrimental to the Prefect of Public Works had insured enthusiastic cooperation.

  He held it steady for Madeline, who climbed into the front and immediately unwrapped the sphere. "Anything?" he asked her.

  "No." She shook her head, studying the sphere carefully. "It’s still and cold."

  As Nicholas retrieved the broad paddle from the walkway and stepped in behind her, he noted she hadn’t asked "What if you’re wrong?" If I’m wrong, our friends are dead, and we’re wasting time here. But he didn’t think he was wrong.

  Besides, there was more to worry about if he was right.

  He untied the line anchoring the cart to the walkway and braced his feet as the flow jolted the little craft forward. "Ho," Madeline commented, startled at the speed. "We don’t know what we’re going into but at least we’ll get there quickly."

  "Isn’t that always the case?" Nicholas said, keeping his tone light. He was relieved that she sounded more like herself, then silently cursed himself for allowing it to distract him. He knew she blamed him for Madele’s death and justifiably so; if not for him the old woman would still be in peaceful retirement outside Lodun. But there was nothing he could do about it now. After a few false starts he used the paddle to direct the cart toward the gallery exit and into the main sewer.

  The cart slid into a channel that was only slightly larger than the metal plates mounted behind it. Their speed increased somewhat, but there was no need to steer and Nicholas laid the paddle down and crouched on the narrow shelf at the stern of the cart. The ceiling was much lower here and the walkways narrower and the lamplight reflected off the water pipes in the curved roof. It .bore a strong resemblance to the sewer channel they had entered from the prison, but it was still far cleaner. Nicholas knew that would change as they reached the older areas.

  The cart carried them rapidly down the Piscard Street channel where they passed through another high-ceilinged gallery and exited into Orean Street. The walls and walkways grew dark with slime, the odor rising from the water grew more noxious, and their cart encountered solid objects that Nicholas preferred not to look at too closely. Madeline dug in the knapsack for the dark-colored rags Nicholas had brought and they each tied one around their nose and mouth. The rags had been soaked in a strong Parscian perfume oil; the scent was cloying, but it warded off the sewer stink admirably.

  The new sewers were all long and straight, orderly channels with their flow controlled by syphons and galleries, though even these broad tunnels could be dangerous. They were lucky there had been little rain lately; sudden torrential downpours sometimes drowned sewermen. The older sewer, begun with the birth of the city and altered over hundreds of years, would be much harder to traverse. Nicholas said, "We’re not far now." Orean Street would cross Monde, just below the syphon.

  The lapping water made very little sound and Nicholas clearly heard voices echoing down the tunnel. "The lamp," he whispered urgently. Madeline hastily shut the cover on the dark lantern and lowered it to the bottom of the cart. Nicholas slowed their progress by stepping forward to the front of the cart and thrusting the broad flat of the paddle down into the muck at the bottom of the channel.

  They were drifting toward the end where an archway opened into the collector near the syphon. Nicholas could see the glow of lamplight ahead, hear voices. There must be men on the walkway above the syphon, conducting an inspection. He handed the paddle to Madeline, who took it with only a little fumbling in the dark. Nicholas stood, bracing his feet apart against the cart’s motion. As they neared the arch more light became visible, illuminating the rounded wall of a high-ceilinged chamber, and a breeze moved the stale damp air in the tunnel. He raised his arms and a moment later felt the slimy stone of the arch strike his hands. He grabbed the lip of it and the cart jerked forward, almost knocking him off his feet. Madeline rose to a crouch and jammed the paddle harder into the accumulated muck at the bottom of the channel. The cart stopped, the water gurgling as it rushed past.

  Straining to hold on, Nicholas was surprised they could stop the cart at all. The Monde syphon must be blocked again and the water level dropping.

  The men on the platform in the next gallery were discussing a drainage problem. Shadows were flung on the wall opposite the archway as their lamps bobbed and Nicholas caught the words "silt," "clogged," and "dynamite." He hoped that last was indicative of someone’s exasperation and not something they had to worry about immediately. He heard Madeline grunt from effort and felt the cart shift as she resettled the paddle.

  The voices faded and the light died away. Nicholas waited another few moments, then whispered, "All right."

  Madeline lifted the paddle with a gasp of relief and he let go of the arch, grabbing the sides of the cart to steady himself. They drifted into the collector, Madeline using the paddle to guide them in a wide circle.

  Without the lamp they were in a vast dark pit, echoing and silent except for the lapping of water and a distant rushing from the other tunnels. Nicholas found the dark lantern in the bottom of the cart and raised its cover again.

  The light revealed the high walls of the collector and the walkway around the edge. Nicholas could see from the marks on the walls that the water level was normally several feet higher. At the far side of the collector on a broad stone platform was the end of the syphon, a long pipe that drew water from one end of the sewer system to the other. All that was visible of it was a gaping hole in the platform, surrounded by an iron guardrail. Suspended above the pit was what looked like the top half of a circular cage. It was actually the holder for the wooden ball that was used to clean the syphon of obstacles. Nicholas took the paddle back from Madeline and guided the cart over to bump up against the stone footing of the platform.

  Cold, fetid air streamed up from the pipe, making Nicholas shiver even in his greatcoat. The surface around it was covered with stinking lumps of silt and sand. Nicholas leaned on the paddle to hold the cart steady and picked up one of the lumps, scraping the silt off it. He handed it to Madeline, who crouched down to examine it in the light of the lantern. She had to break it and look at the inside oefore she could make sure what it was. "Yes, it’s bone," she said quietly. "Old and stained but brittle, as if it hasn’t been in the water long."

  Nicholas pushed off with the paddle and guided them toward the exit into the next sewer.

  They were well into the older tunnels now and the stench would have been overpowering except for the cloths treated with Parscian oil. The lamplight caught furtive movement on the filth-choked walkways as rats travelled busily along and there was an occasional plop, as a spider or centipede dropped from the rounded ceiling into the stream. The sphere remained quiescent under Madeline’s hands and Nicholas didn’t know whether to be relieved or discouraged. They had had no time or means to test the sphere’s range of influence but if the necromancer was really down here he thought it should have detected something before now. But if we’re attacked by a ghoul while we’re stuck in this cart, it will go badly, he reminded himself grimly.

  Finally an archway sealed by a rusted grating appeared at the l
imit of the light. "That’s it," Nicholas said, dragging the paddle along the bottom to slow the cart. "We’ll walk from now on."

  Madeline grabbed the stone lip of the walkway and helped him swing the cart against it. "I could feign delight but I think I’ll save that for when we encounter something really horrible."

  "Then it won’t be long," Nicholas told her. He wasn’t looking forward to this part of the journey, either. "This is the Great Sewer. It hasn’t been drained in six hundred years."

  Madeline muttered under her breath but made no other comment.

  Nicholas tied the cart off to one of the metal rings sunk into the stone for the purpose and climbed up on the walkway to examine the grating. There was a lock which the Prefect of Public Works probably possessed the key for, but it was badly rusted. He pulled the prybar out of the knapsack and set to work separating the grating from the stone at the weak points along the side.

  As they had discussed already, Madeline didn’t offer to assist but stood by with the lamp and the sphere, keeping watch. The ghouls couldn’t be running rampant in the newer channels or the sewermen would have seen them. But Nicholas was aware that sewermen died all the time, from falls, from noxious vapors that built up in the lesser-used tunnels, from sudden deluges of rainwater; if more sewermen had been killed in the past months than usual it would be put down to bad luck and no one would think to search for some other cause.

  The grating broke away from the stone in pieces and soon Nicholas had cleared enough of an opening for them to squeeze through. He slung the knapsack over his shoulder, collected the lamp from Madeline and worked his way past the broken metal. On the other side he waited for Madeline to follow, holding the lamp up to get a look at the passage before them.

  The ceiling was lower, the channel and the walkway narrower. The masonry was crumbled and cracked or coated with layers of filth and festooned with bizarre shapes of fungi. Ghost-lichen mixed in with the other growth threw sparkles of light back at the lamp.

  Madeline squeezed through the opening behind him, clamping her hat down tight on her head and clutching the sphere against her side. "Anything?" Nicholas asked her.