Sti I- Eret, ''Secret journeys to the North;' from Travels at Home and Abroad
he Union Locks-properly known as the Locks of Mab's Glorious Union, though no one referred to them as such-rested upon a massive floating platform in the heart of the Unseelie lands. In the center of the platform was the station itself, with its shops and cafes and its grand marble ticket counter. Surrounding the station were the locks themselves, housed in grand arches designed to complement the curves of the station. Beyond, on a separate tier, were the airdocks, where transports and personal fliers were moored. At all times, day or night, the lock arches flashed silver and airships of all shapes and sizes came and went.
Far below all this, Timha emerged from a small private lock into an atrium on the lowest level of the central platform. There were three arches here, though only the one leading to the Secret City was currently in operation. No one had told Timha where the others led, and he had been sensible enough not to ask. The entire area was off-limits to the public; its very existence was a state secret.
The guards on this side of the lock examined Timha's papers carefully, paying special attention to the release that Master Valmin had signed. A wand was passed over it to verify its veracity. Once the guards had checked the papers, they called a superior down from an upper level to review them all a second time.
Timha waited as patiently as possible, but inside he felt as though he were about to burst. If his invisible bundle were to be discovered here, he would never leave the Union Locks. There would be no public trial. They would simply slit his throat and toss him out a garbage chute, for the birds and the Arami nomads to pick over. They'd probably torture Master Valmin as well, to determine whether Timha's treason was in fact a conspiracy.
The superior officer had the guards strip Timha and carefully examine both his clothes and his bag, running deglamouring wands over every item, piece by piece. As they spread out his belongings, one of the guards stepped perilously close to the hidden bundle on the floor. If he took another step to the right, he'd tread on it. A wand passed a bit too near, and Timha tried not to gasp as a bit of the string was revealed. It lay on the floor, visible evidence of Timha's crime. He tried not to look at it. Breathe. Breathe.
Finally, finally, the guards decided that Timha was fine to proceed.
Timha bent down as nonchalantly as possible and retrieved the exposed string, waving his hand in such a way as to drag the bundle in a wide arc to keep it from accidentally brushing one of the guards when he left the room.
The guards waved him out of the atrium, and he took a small lift up to the main level of the station. He nearly ran to the )akes, where he just made it to the urinal trough before he wet his pants. Before he left, he pulled the bundle to his belly and tied the string tightly around him. As long as no one searched him again, he'd be fine.
An amplified voice rang through the station, calling the name and destination of his transport. He ran from the jakes and out of the building, ignoring the vibrant life of the place that had given him so much pleasure when he'd passed through it on the way to the Secret City. So much had changed since then. The world, he felt, had been altered beneath him. His life had drifted over a strange, hostile landscape, over the very edge of the world, and he had only the vaguest idea which direction to sail in order to save himself.
The funeral for Timha's mother was held at the observation deck atop the pinnacle spire. The city of Nearside arrayed beneath him, Timha tried to concentrate on the funeral, but his eyes kept drifting to the decks below. Proud, tall Unseelie Fae going about their business, the grand Elvish race at the height of civilization. None of them knew about Timha's plight. None of them cared.
They had no idea what lurked at the heart of their world. Timha had been exposed to that darkness, and the city could not fly high enough to bring him into the light.
The priest's elegy droned on; Timha heard none of it. As far as Timha knew, the man had never met his mother, and the speech was merely a string of empty platitudes. In a circle around the bier, Timha's family and friends sat and watched. Timha's brother Hy Foran was next to him. He reached out and squeezed Timha's hand, looking kindly at him. Timha forced a quick smile.
"Fear not, Timha. She's gone on." Hy Foran patted him on the shoulder. Timha realized that his brother had mistaken his anxiety for grief. In truth, Timha had never particularly liked his mother. She was an uneducated lump who had seemed to revel in her own mediocrity. Come to think of it, his entire family was blandly commonplace. Timha had known from childhood that if he were ever to be happy, he'd have to leave Nearside for the City of Mab.
And look where that had gotten him. He'd been there during the abortive attack on the Seelie lands, when the city crashed near the border. Thousands had died that day. Timha had escaped with merely a broken wrist, but the horror had not left him. From there to the Secret City, the pinnacle of his young career. And from there to treason.
He looked over at Hy Foran. True grief gleamed in his brother's eyes. This was not going to be easy.
After the prayers had been said, and the bier set alight and released into the sky, the family returned to Hy Foran's home, which was a respectable if small dwelling with a view of the portside edge. Food was piled on the table in the common room, and candles glowed on a long table where a portrait of Timha's mother had been placed. Timha took a few dumplings and some boiled greens and pushed them around on his plate for a few minutes while the others ate in quiet contemplation. Hy Foran's two small children ran through the house, playing.
After the children had been put to bed and the extended family had returned to their own homes, Timha, Hy Foran, and Hy Foran's wife Letta sat on the balcony overlooking the edge. Far below, grasses swayed in the moonlight. A minor quake kicked up dust and a distant thunder. Letta handed out beer in wooden mugs.
"It must have been difficult for you to get away," said Hy Foran. "I know the work you're doing is very important."
"Yes," said Timha, looking out over the edge. "But family is more important than work."
Hy Foran nodded.
"I need help," said Timha. His voice cracked when he spoke. Tears began to well in his eyes. "I'm in terrible trouble."
Hy Foran's eyes widened. "Tell me, Brother. Anything I can do to help I will."
"I need to get out of the country. I have to get to the Seelie Lands. It's the only place I'll be safe."
Hy Foran and his wife shared a look. "Timha," said Hy Foran, "what is it? What's happened?"
"Look," said Timha. "I know the two of you are Arcadians. You can help me."
Hy Foran leaned back in his chair, looking sidelong at him. "Timha, I don't know what-"
"I'm not going to turn you in, damn you. I need you to help me!"
"What is it you think we can do for you, Brother?" Hy Foran's expression had darkened; his voice was flat.
"I've heard that your kind have ways of spiriting people out. Believers who are in trouble with the authorities, that kind of thing."
Hy Foran's eyes narrowed. "But you are not a believer."
Timha paused. "No. But listen to me. I know things. The Seelie will know who I am. They'll know that I have things that they want. Oh, Brother, I'll be killed if I don't go!"
Hy Foran and Letta shared another, longer look.
"Would you give us a moment, Brother? My wife and I need to talk."
"Of course," said Timha. He stood shakily and went inside, closing the balcony door as softly as possible. He went to the common room and sat, his stomach in knots. He nibbled on a sweetcake, but it stuck in his throat.
The door to the balcony opened. "I must discuss your case with another. You will have to tell him everything. Do not tell me; I do not want to know."
Timha cried now. He couldn't help it. "Thank you, Brother. Thank you so much." He put his hands over his face and wept.
"I cannot promise anything, Timha. I do not think you understand what it is you're asking of me."
"I'm sorry
," said Timha. "I'm so sorry."
A week later, Abbot Estiane was in his office at the Temple Aba-Nylae, lost in contemplation, when a young monk came hurtling into his office, carrying a letter.
"What's this?" Estiane said, a bit crossly. "I've asked not to be disturbed."
"Father, you must see this at once," said the monk, out of breath.
Estiane took the letter and read it. His eyes widened.
"Send a message to Lord Everess in the City Emerald," he said to the monk. "Tell him I need to see him immediately."
It is always easier to get into trouble than out of it.
-Master jedron
he next morning, Silverdun, Ironfoot, and Sela were sitting in the Shadows' Den reviewing a mountain of reports, bored senseless. Paet came limping hurriedly in, carrying a satchel stuffed with papers.
"Go home and pack a bag, each of you," he said in passing. "You're leaving in the morning."
"What, all three of us?" asked Silverdun.
"Be back here in an hour for your briefing," said Paet. He went downstairs to his office and they heard the door slam.
An hour later, they assembled in the mission room. Paet had a map of the Unseelie pinned on the wall. Red pins showed the current known locations of cities, and chalk arrows showed their expected patterns of movement. Paet was pointing at the city of Preyia with the end of his cane.
"This is where you'll be going," he said.
"The Unseelie?" said Silverdun. "There aren't any more dangerous places you could send us?"
"I'm sorry," said Paet. "I didn't realize you'd only signed up for the safe jobs."
"Danger I'm fine with. It's suicide I try to avoid where possible."
Paet waved the notion away. "I've been there dozens of times. The cities are quite lovely, actually."
"I've been in one myself," said Silverdun, recalling his adventure with Mauritane in the City of Mab just before the Battle of Sylvan.
"Yes," said Paet. "This time it won't be necessary for you to destroy the entire city."
"What's the mission?" asked Ironfoot. "What are we after?"
"Ah," said Paet. "A useful question. You're going to meet an Unseelie thaumaturge named Timha, who is a journeyer at Queen's University in the City of Mab. Or was, rather. He left about eight months ago."
"Where has he been since?" asked Sela.
"We're not entirely sure," said Paet. "We're hoping he can tell us that himself."
"We're taking him out of the country?" asked Silverdun.
"Yes," said Paet. "He claims to have intimate knowledge about the Einswrath. In fact, he claims to have the plans for it."
"You're kidding," said Ironfoot.
"That's what we've been told."
"We have to get him," said Ironfoot. "I've been through every shred of intelligence on the subject, and we have yet to uncover anything about those plans. I'm getting nowhere with my research. If I could just talk to him for ten minutes!"
"Maybe he can also tell us why they haven't been lobbing the things over the border at us these many months," said Silverdun.
Paet pointed to a map of the Seelie Kingdom on the wall, larger than the one in his office. The known locations of the cities were marked with pins.
"Your briefing documents are being copied as we speak. They contain all the details, but I'll go over the basics with you now."
He pointed to a pin on the map. "The three of you will travel to the Unseelie via lock using false papers, arriving here at the Union Locks."
He moved the tip of his cane from the first pin to another pin farther south. "Once there, you'll travel to Preyia by air. You'll rendezvous with Timha in Preyia." He now drew the tip of the cane to a dot marked on the map just above the Seelie border. "You'll have access there to a borrowed yacht, which you will fly to Elenth, one of the few land-based Unseelie cities, two days' ride north of Sylvan. In Elenth you'll meet with an Arcadian priest named Virum. He works closely with his brethren on the other side of the border, escorting believers who are in danger into the Seelie Kingdom. He'll help you across the border."
"Who's going to fly the yacht?" said Silverdun. "I can't sail something like that."
Paet pointed at Ironfoot. "He can."
"Captain of the sailing club at Queensbridge."
"Pretty fancy for an army man," said Silverdun.
"I like to win at things," said Ironfoot. "Doesn't much matter what."
"Excuse me," said Sela, holding up her hand. "Why can't the Arcadians spirit him out of the country themselves?"
"Good question," said Paet. "They're too afraid. This Timha is a highly placed thaumaturge who's just fled from a top-secret research laboratory. He's carrying on his person the plans for the most powerful weapon ever created. The Arcadians believe, and justifiably so, that if they were caught assisting him, the retaliation against the Church would be apocalyptic. Further, Timha is not himself an Arcadian; some of their members are unwilling to go out on a limb for a nonbeliever. Regardless, Everess tried everything he could think of to convince him, but Estiane refused. As Silverdun may have told you, Estiane and Everess are not the best of friends."
"To put it mildly," said Silverdun.
"Personally," said Paet, "I prefer it this way. I'd much rather have this man's fate in your hands than in those of a bunch of peace-loving monks. When they're caught, they don't fight. They simply surrender and go to their deaths like sheep."
"Only you, Paet, could make peace sound like a bad thing," said Silverdun.
Without warning, Paet took a thick glass paperweight from his desk and hurled it at Silverdun's head. It struck Silverdun's temple, and Silverdun, who had been leaning back in his chair, fell over backward and crashed to the floor.
"Ow!" said Silverdun, picking himself up.
Paet shrugged. "I learned everything I know about management from Master Jedron," he said.
"Bastard!" grumbled Silverdun, clutching his hand to his head.
"Paet," said Sela, tentatively. "What if I didn't go?"
"Excuse me?" said Paet.
"I've got a project going; something I've worked out from going over a number of documents, and-"
"Analysts I've got," said Paet. "But I only have one of you."
Sela looked down at her lap and said nothing.
"Sela," said Paet. "Would you excuse us, please? I'd like to talk to Silverdun and Ironfoot alone."
Sela nodded and stood up. She glanced at Silverdun and smiled primly.
Once they were alone, Paet came around to the front of his desk and leaned back against it.
"You're going to be in Unseelie territory," he said in a low voice. "And that means that it is absolutely imperative that neither of you is taken, dead or alive."
"What does that mean?" said Ironfoot.
"If one of you is killed there, you must bring the body back with you."
"Why?"
"I can't tell you that. If it happens, the answer will be obvious, though I don't recommend trying it just to find out."
"What if carrying a body around isn't feasible?" asked Silverdun. "If one of us is dead, it probably means that things have gone badly."
"True," said Paet. "In that case, it is equally imperative that you sever the head, if possible, and return with it. That's better than nothing."
"And why is that?" asked Ironfoot.
"Because Mab has ways of getting information out of you, even if you're dead."
"Failing even that, however," he continued, "you must ensure that the body is destroyed utterly. Preferably by fire."
"Well, this is quite a conversation we're having," said Silverdun.
"What if we're captured alive?" asked Ironfoot. "What do we do then?"
"If one of you is taken, the others must do everything in their power to retrieve him. If, however, that is impossible, the one who's been captured must end his own life. All you need do in that situation is concentrate very carefully on dying. You will not only die, but your body will explode
in a most dramatic fashion."
"Urn," said Ironfoot, "I'm not aware of any spell that allows that to happen."
"It's not a spell," said Paet.
"With no offense to Silverdun," said Ironfoot, "I have far less trouble lopping off his head than I do Sela's. I just can't imagine doing it."
Paet stared at him. "I thought you understood, I was only referring to the two of you. If Sela dies, leave her."
With that, Paet ushered them out of his office and shut the door behind them.
How great is Mab?
You might ask how deep the sea, how fiery the sun! Perfection itself bows before her.
How gracious is Mab?
Mab's grace and mercy know no limits.To her people she is a mother.To her allies a protector.To her enemies a correcting hand. Even those whom she has slain cry out their gratitude from the afterlife, thankful now their wickedness is at an end.
How wise is Mab?
Mab's wisdom knows no limits. The only thing of which she is ignorant is ignorance itself. Is there anything she has not seen? Is there any secret whose depths she has not plumbed? Look into the heart of any mystery and you shall find the Unseelie flag already planted there.
How powerful is Mab?
All power is Mab's power.All strength is her strength. No enemy can stand against her unless she suffers them to stand. In war she is unconquered and unconquerable. In persuasion, she is truth itself.
How loving is Mab?
To speak of love is to speak of Mab, for they are one and the same.
Imperial Catechism
ver the years Mab had overcome an array of foes, but the Great Enemy, the one who could never be slain, was boredom.
Mab had attempted every diversion, delved into every fantasy and fetish and addiction. She had gotten lost in music, in dance, in poetry, in cockfights, in mestina. Every pleasure to be had, she had tried: wine, men, women, children, orgies. Sweets, fox hunts, fencing, croquet. Sewing, pottery, Elemental sculpture. Each provided its small measure of diversion; each was a coal that burned bright for its season and then went cold, leaving the taste of its ash in her mouth.
The Office of Shadow Page 24
