“The Archon?” Shader’s hand covered the hilt of his gladius.
“Maybe,” Elias said, “but let’s not forget the dark sheep of the family. If there’s a shadowy presence after the statue, my guess is it’s more likely to be the Demiurgos.”
“Metaphysically speaking?”
“Naturally,” Elias said. “Well, let’s hope so anyway.”
Shader stood, towering over the little bard, and frowned down at him. “This isn’t a game, Elias. You were one of Huntsman’s guardians, like the Gray Abbot, yes?”
Elias shuffled uneasily, eyes locked to his feet. “Custodian’s a better word. I lack the muscle for guardianship. But yes, Huntsman entrusted the body of the statue to me, for some bizarre reason, and I’ve not aged a day since.”
Shader had been wondering about that. “The Gray Abbot aged as soon as his Monas was stolen.”
“Suppose you’re going to tell me I’ve gone gray?” Elias ran his hands through his lank hair.
“You don’t look any different; perhaps because you’re still close to the statue.”
A look of mock horror crossed Elias’s face. “You mean to say I have to follow you around everywhere or else I’ll start decomposing? Course, the Gray Abbot was probably an old fart when he got his bit of statue. What do you reckon he was, eighty? Ninety?”
Shader moved towards the chancel with a hand to his ear. He could hear a sound like heavy rain beneath the coughing and groaning of the patients. Pater Cadris was reading from the Liber to a young boy covered with purplish welts and with eyes so red they seemed to be bleeding. Shader waved him to silence and the fat priest rolled his eyes and closed the book.
Mater Ioana burst out of the sacristy, her shaven head glistening with sweat, her robes as grubby as a well-used floor-cloth. “There are horses coming down the Domus Tyalae,” she said. “And a black carriage.”
Cadris stood up, jowls quivering, and waddled to her side. “Who is it?” he almost squealed.
Ignoring him, Ioana marched down the nave and opened the doors. Elias made to follow her, but Shader clamped a hand on his shoulder.
“One last thing. Who were the other guardians?”
“Huntsman wouldn’t tell me. The Gray Abbot was a tad obvious—you can’t stay in the top job in the same place for centuries without people gossiping. I mean, I ask you! I’ve heard whisperings over the years that one of the pieces—an eye reputedly—was taken to Aeterna and given to the Ipsissimus. I kind of want to believe that one—there’s a beautiful irony to the hierophant of Nousian orthodoxy possessing the eye of a pagan goddess.”
The clopping of hooves from outside was as loud as hail on a tin roof. Shader flicked a look towards the open door, but couldn’t see past the backs of Ioana and Cadris.
“If I gave you the statue back, could you use it to locate the Gray Abbot’s piece?”
Elias’s face seemed suddenly drawn and haggard. He held Shader’s gaze as if he were trying to discern the seriousness of the proposition. “Who stole the Abbot’s Monas?” he asked in a low voice.
“A creature of darkness. A ghost of some sort. A wraith.”
Elias swallowed and lowered his eyes. “I’ve been many things in my long life,” he said, “but in every instance I’ve had a single thread of continuity.”
Shader frowned his incomprehension.
“I’m a bleeding coward. Last thing I need is the attention of the living dead. I told you I’d sensed some evil shit around the statue. You’re welcome to it, mate. I’d sooner take my chances with ol’ Father Time.”
The thunderous noise from outside had subsided and Shader could hear voices—Ioana’s and another voice he thought he recognized.
“Shader,” Elias said, “there’s something I wanted to tell you.”
“Later.”
Shader strode towards the doors with Elias scurrying behind.
“It’s about Rhiannon.”
Shader’s heart lurched. He’d barely given her a thought since he’d reached Sarum.
“What—?”
But before he could say anything else he was at the doors and could do little more than gawp in disbelief. Fanned out around the templum portico there were getting on for forty armored horsemen wearing white surcoats emblazoned with the red Monas of Nousia. It took a moment to register that these were the lads from Oakendale and not the Elect of Aeterna. He’d never seen so many together in one place and his reaction was a mixture of pride and trepidation.
A gleaming black carriage was parked behind the knights, its lone driver hunched over the reins, a battered, very tall hat crammed low on his head, the brim obscuring his eyes. The carriage door opened and an immensely fat man stepped onto the driveway. He was dressed in a voluminous jacket of bottle-green velvet, a bulging waistcoat, pleated trousers and polished brown leather shoes. The face was all cheeks and jowls, ruddy and mustachioed, and topped with a mop of wavy gray hair. Sunlight glinted from the frames of pince-nez perched on the bridge of his nose.
The fat man reached into his waistcoat and took out what looked like a golden locket attached to a chain. He flipped it open, glanced between the locket and the sun, shook his head and tutted.
Shader was distracted by one of the knights speaking to Ioana; the voice he thought he’d recognized.
Gaston looked like a hero from legend, sat astride a white mare, leaning over the saddle pommel. His blond hair tumbled about the white cloak of the Order, chainmail sparkling beneath. It was the first time Shader had seen the lads in armor—none of them had been able to afford it during the training, and the council had refused funding even when he played upon their fears of the mawgs returning. Armor cost more than the average house in Oakendale and Shader had given up on the idea of ever procuring any when Aristodeus showed up unexpectedly with a purse full of gold coins stamped with the head of the emperor. The first suits arrived the day Shader left.
There was a jagged scar along Gaston’s nose, pinpricks either side where stitches had obviously been removed. His jaw dropped when he saw Shader, but when Elias came into view he went pale.
“He’s the one, Mater!” Elias said, pushing past and jabbing a finger at Gaston.
Shader met the eyes of Barek Thomas, who gave the slightest of nods. Justin Salace walked his horse alongside Gaston’s, glaring at Elias like he meant to kill him.
“What do you mean?” Ioana said, but something about her expression told Shader she already knew the answer.
“The one I told you about.” Elias sounded like a schoolboy desperate to be believed. “He … raped … Rhiannon.”
Justin started to draw his sword, but Gaston placed a hand on his arm.
Shader heard the words but they meant nothing to him. He looked to Gaston for an explanation; for anything to help him understand.
“I…” Gaston licked his lips.
Shader approached the mare, stroked behind its ears and closed his eyes, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. Rhiannon had been raped? By Gaston? He felt his knees weaken and had to hold onto the bridle for support. When his eyes snapped open, his vision was blurred by moisture. “Gaston? Is this true?”
Gaston’s bottom lip was trembling and he looked away.
“It’s true, all right,” Rhiannon said, emerging from the templum arm in arm with Soror Agna. She was dressed in a simple white alb, her satin hair braided in a thick plait. Black and yellow bruising surrounded her left eye and her jaw looked swollen.
“Rhiannon?” Shader’s heart jumped into his throat. “I thought you … thought you were…”
“It’s what I was trying to tell you,” Elias said. “I brought her here after what he did to her.”
Shader took a step towards Rhiannon, but she threw up an arm as if he were going to hit her. Him, of all people!
Spinning on his heel, he grabbed Gaston’s cloak and pulled him from the saddle. Gaston squealed as he fell, but managed to twist and roll, the cloak coming away in Shader’s hand. Shader dropped it, dr
ew the gladius and advanced as Gaston scuttled away on his backside. Ioana barked something to Cadris who hurried inside.
“Deacon, don’t,” Rhiannon said, reaching for his arm.
He pulled away, more violently than he’d intended, and grabbed Gaston by the hair, pressing the shortsword against his throat.
“If I may…” The fat man lit a cigarette and inhaled loudly three times. “Dr. Cadman, Public Health Advisor to Governor Gen. My friend here and I are on Council business. If there are scores to be settled, then might I suggest they are resolved through the proper channels?”
Shader snarled and slammed Gaston’s head into the ground. Justin drew his sword and the other knights followed suit. Shader pulled his longsword from its scabbard and faced the mass of knights with both blades.
Gaston regained his feet and snatched up his cloak. “I came to help,” he cried, pushing his way back through the horses. “I’m sorry!” Gaston started to run back down the Domus Tyalae.
“Boy!” Shader shouted after him, and Gaston turned. “Back here tomorrow. You and me. And bring your sword.”
Gaston swallowed and nodded before walking away with as much dignity as he could muster.
“Now the rest of you whelps do the same,” Maldark growled, striding out of the templum with Cadris in tow.
“Who the shog do you think—”
Justin’s words were cut off by Maldark swinging his hammer over head and slamming it into the ground. There was a terrific clap of thunder as rocks and dust flew into the air. The lead horses reared and Justin dropped his sword as he clung to the saddlebow in an effort to stay seated. When the dust settled, Rhiannon handed it back to him.
“Better do as he says.”
Justin sheathed his sword and looked daggers at her. Nevertheless, he wheeled his horse and cantered down the Domus Tyalae. The others followed in a cacophony of hooves clattering on cobbles, all except Gaston’s abandoned white mare and Barek who lingered as if he had something he wanted to say.
“What’s going on, Barek? There are a lot of very pissed off soldiers outside the city.” Shader grimaced at his own language and touched two fingers to his forehead.
“Things got out of hand,” Barek said, shifting in the saddle. “Gaston ordered the charge. What else could we do?”
Shader caught the accusation; after all, he was the one who’d insisted upon absolute obedience along the chain of command. “But why assemble the Order? Why bring them here?”
“Gaston had a visitor—some old man who said he knew you. Bald bloke. Said you needed us. Said the Templum did, too. We were just trying to help.”
Aristodeus. What was he up to now? Shader was starting to get a bit fed up with the philosopher popping up all over the place and setting things in motion. He’d always seen him as a friend and mentor, but there was a whole other side to Aristodeus starting to emerge, a side that had probably been there all along. It felt like a betrayal, like being raised by loving parents your whole life only to discover you’d been adopted.
“And Rhiannon?” Shader shifted closer to Barek, kept his voice down. “What…? Why did Gaston…? How did this…?”
Barek closed his eyes, clenched his jaw. “He told us it was the bard. Took us to her parents to warn them. Elias brought her home, there was an argument … a fight.” Barek opened his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Shader’s head was pounding. “A fight?” With Yeffrik and Jessy? But—
Barek tried addressing Rhiannon, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “It wasn’t meant to be like that. You have to believe me. Sammy … Rhiannon, I…”
She looked up at that. “What? What the shog have you done to him?”
“Nothing. I… Huntsman has him.”
“Huntsman?”
“He came, Rhiannon, I tried to…”
She took her head in her hands and began to sway. Agna hugged her close and scowled at Barek.
“Rhiannon, please…” Barek gave up and turned back to Shader. “What are you going to do? We need you, Deacon. Gaston’s lost it. The men follow him, but only because he’s the leader; they’re just doing what you taught them. If you came back—”
“Go, Barek.” Shader dismissed him with a wave. “You can’t blame me for what’s happened. This isn’t what I trained you for. I expected better from you—you of all people.”
“But—”
“Get out of here!”
Barek rode alongside Gaston’s mare and leaned over to take its reins. He cast a final look over his shoulder before kicking his heels into his horse’s flanks and trotting down the Domus Tyalae with the mare in tow.
The fat man—Cadman—trod his cigarette underfoot. “Boys,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “And yet Governor Gen thinks they could help.”
“Zara Gen sent them?” Ioana said.
“Sent us all, actually. Years of research and medical practice and I’m still just a dogsbody.”
Shader returned his swords to their scabbards and tried to make eye contact with Rhiannon, but she turned her back on him and went inside with Agna. He couldn’t tell if he was angry or hurt. He’d acted like an idiot, and yet if Gaston came back he’d do the same again. What did she expect him to do? Turn the other cheek? That was one bit of the Liber he couldn’t subscribe to; he’d tried it before, but it had only delayed the inevitable.
“Are you really a doctor?” Cadris asked, his voice squeaking like a rusty hinge, fingers drumming on his belly.
“Many times over,” Cadman said, whipping off his pince-nez and blowing on the lenses once, twice, three times. “And not just of medicine.” He fished a polka dot handkerchief from his pocket and gave the glass a good rub, lips moving almost imperceptibly—as if he were reciting a prayer … or counting.
Cadris threw his head back somewhat disdainfully and folded his arms over his chest. “Well, we’re terribly impressed, but I have to say…”
“Cadris!” Ioana’s voice cracked out like a whip. “Soror Velda’s on her own with the patients.”
“But Agna and Rhiannon are in—”
“What was it we were discussing over breakfast?”
“Yes, quite, but really, this does not—”
“Obedience, Pater. Obedience and humility.”
Cadris’s cheeks flushed and he winced before bowing his head and waddling inside.
Cadman returned his pince-nez to the bridge of his nose, shook out his handkerchief and crammed it into his pocket. “Mater, I’m so terribly sorry about all this bother. I should have come alone, but I foolishly thought I could kill two birds with one stone. Governor Gen felt the knights might come in handy—extra man-power, you know the sort of thing. They were more than a little keen, too. You heard what the lad said: apparently they came to Sarum to help you.”
“With what, exactly?” Shader asked.
Cadman squinted at him, beady eyes scanning him from head to foot, one eyebrow rising. “Who can tell? Do you know, I’m finding this quite fascinating. Gaston told me all about you. Said you left the Elect in Aeterna before founding the White Order. Governor Gen has some interesting tales about you, as well. Seems you’re something of a celebrity. I must say, it’s an honor to meet you.”
“Really,” Shader said. “Seems you know a lot more about me than I know about you.”
The fat man plucked another cigarette from a silver case he kept in his breast pocket. “As I said, I’m Dr. Cadman. Ernst Cadman. Office of Public Health at Arnbrook House. I also run a little private practice out in the suburbs—services to the poor, that kind of thing. Which reminds me, Mater.” Cadman beamed at Ioana. “How are you getting on with the plague? I hear great things about the care you provide: exemplary barrier nursing.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh.” Cadman took three short puffs on his cigarette. “I assumed that’s why none of you were infected: you know, masks, gloves, stringent hand-washing. The Governor thought you might like to share the secrets of your success so that we ca
n hold you up as an example to the hospitals and get this plague beaten.”
Ioana frowned and stuck out her bottom lip. “This is no ordinary plague, Dr. Cadman.”
Cadman slid his pince-nez further down his nose and raised his eyebrows. “Go on.”
“The people who are infected … I don’t wish to sound judgmental … and I’m not…”
Cadman was nodding. “But?”
“They are mostly people from the … the…”
“Less salubrious trades? Most degenerate areas?” Cadman said. “Interesting, isn’t it? My esteemed colleague, Dr. Stoofley, made similar observations, only for him the pattern of depravity broke down when it came to bankers and merchants getting ill. Maybe he doesn’t bank where I do.”
Elias sighed, muttered something under his breath, and slipped away towards his cart where he made a fuss of Hector before climbing aboard and hunting through the instruments and sacks of herbs.
Maldark, had a sullen look on his face. He kept glaring at Cadman and then patting the head of his hammer. The doctor noticed and tried to lead Ioana inside the templum.
“Mater,” he said, shooting Shader a look that said this was a private conversation. “I wonder if you’d allow me to see your patients and have a word with the carers. Zara Gen is convinced you have some mystical immunity and it is my intention to prove him wrong. Science is what we are about, is it not, Mater?”
Shader felt a warm glow from within his pocket as Cadman brushed past him. He slipped his fingers inside and withdrew them as if bitten: the Statue of Eingana was gently throbbing. Maldark was watching him and gave the slightest of nods. Cadman cast a furtive look over his shoulder before ushering Ioana inside the templum. Turning his back on Cadman’s driver, who’d remained as still as a corpse throughout, Shader took the statue from his pocket. The amber dweomer had returned, and the slightest of ripples ran along the serpent’s scales.
“You felt it also?” Maldark touched the statue reverently with the tips of his fingers. He stared at it with a mixture of awe and affection.
Shader slipped it back in his pocket. “It seemed to react to our visitor.”
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