Irenicon

by Aidan Harte

  “Keep it down! I don’t know, an exorcism, maybe?”

  “That woman has no business on Bardini streets, and I’ll be dammed before I invite her to shake her beads at this thing. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Look—”

  Sofia leaped out of the alley and walked boldly toward the creature with her flag down.

  “Hey, Froggy. What’s the matter, my friend?”

  Somehow the specter heard or sensed her, for it turned with the same blind lumbering movement.

  “Are you lost?”

  It swung; she dodged and brought her flag up, jabbing into the thing’s sternum. But her stick didn’t meet bone; it just sank in and came out bloody.

  “What the—?” She hadn’t hit it that hard.

  “Sofia, look out!”

  She dropped low as it swung again and rolled out of reach. It turned to follow and cracked open where she had punctured it, falling apart like water spraying from a broken glass.

  Sofia was on her back as the blood flowed toward her, searching for her hungrily. Giovanni pulled her out of its path, and the pool stopped, then ran together, leaving dry a space for two footprints, then rushing in to form boots, then legs and the rest, stopping at the neck.

  “Did you see that?” said Sofia.

  “I don’t think it’s Frog . . .”

  “It’s a buio, idiota!”

  “That’s even more irrational. Why’s it shaped like a human?”

  “Who cares? We need to get it home.”

  “You can’t fight water with flags—Hold on, where’s it going now?”

  “Tower Bardini. All right, damn it, let’s go and disturb the nun’s beauty sleep. See if she’s got any lethal prayers up her sleeves.”

  They met her coming from the Baptistery.

  “I got tired of waiting for you. I was—”

  “Expecting us? Not this again,” said Sofia. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

  “How can I help?” the Reverend Mother said.

  It was close to dawn. They found it standing in front of Tower Bardini, looking up, if something without eyes could look, at the Doctor leaning out of a second-story window.

  “How long’s it been standing there, Doc?” Sofia shouted.

  “A while.” He was breakfasting on orange segments and didn’t look too worried.

  “He wants to find out what he paid his taxes for. Don’t let conscience ruin your appetite.”

  “I won’t. Under control?”

  “No thanks to you,” she mumbled.

  “Fine morning, Sister,” the Doctor said with a half salute. It was not returned.

  “Well, I’m going back to bed. Call me if you need anything,” he said, and went inside.

  The nun approached the creature. “Poor boy.”

  “It’s not a ghost, Sister.”

  “I know. It’s the water the boy bled in.”

  “How can you tell?” asked Giovanni.

  “I’ve contemplated water since I was a girl, Captain. I’ve learned a thing or two. I can see the things people hide from themselves”—she glanced back up at Tower Bardini—“and everyone else. Concordians think they can cut Nature open with a scalpel. Some things are learned only by going inside yourself.”

  “That’s wonderful, Sister,” Sofia interrupted, “but why did it try to kill me? Frog was my friend.”

  “Because it’s only part Frog.”

  Giovanni wasn’t satisfied. “But it’s impossible. The transmitter on the river surface stops buio—”

  “But this buio believes it’s human.”

  “That doesn’t matter! Natural Philosophy isn’t contingent on belief!”

  “Bah, Concordians! Always think they know reality.” She smiled then and said, “Belief can change the world, and if you doubt it, I’ll prove it.”

  The Reverend Mother stood very close to the creature. “Little Frog,” she said, “”

  Their shadows stretched behind them as they followed the nun and the creature. The creature’s shadow quivered like water in a glass shot through by light. The night’s storm had retreated, pursued by ghosts of misty drizzle.

  The sun was peeping behind the towers when their strange procession reached the embankment, though the streets remained empty and windows remained tightly closed.

  The creature stopped.

  “He’s afraid,” the Reverend Mother said.

  “You blame him? This is where Frog’s head was caved in.”

  “He said the river hates us.”

  “This isn’t Frog, Giovanni.”

  “It thinks it is. And if he still wants to leave Rasenna, I can help.” The Reverend Mother took a step toward the creature.

  “Sister, don’t get too close.”

  “There’s no danger, Captain. Today’s not my day to die. Or yours.”

  Sofia and Giovanni watched and held their breath as she reached out and touched the creature’s hand.

  “It doesn’t know what it is. I have to show it.”

  It snatched its hand away suddenly and stepped back. The buio became transparent, then re-formed. It raised its hands and left bloody prints hanging in the air where its face should have been. The misty rain around it took on a red hue. Frog’s face materialized for a moment; he looked grateful.

  “I know,” she said.

  The hand vanished as the creature changed from boy to buio, then collapsed into a puddle of nervously shimmering water that rushed off the bridge’s limits.

  It bloomed briefly in the water, then was taken.

  “He’s at peace,” the nun said, sighing deeply, suddenly unsteady on her feet.

  Giovanni reached out to help, but she drew back. “I’m fine. It’s just—The river is so powerful—you can’t open yourself to it without getting some back.”

  Sofia knelt where the puddle had been and picked up the chain.

  The nun watched her. “Anything else you need from me, Contessa?”

  “No, the buio’s gone. You can go too.”

  Giovanni escorted the old lady home and apologized for Sofia.

  She laughed. “The Contessa doesn’t care for me.”

  “You did break her arm, Sister.”

  “Yes, unfortunate, that. Yet I think she would have forgiven me if she had won.”

  “She’s proud,” he said, smiling to himself.

  “The Doctor taught her to act like someone apart, and so she is, but not as he thinks. He’s taught her to rule Rasenna as it is now. When a child wants a thing, it takes it, whatever the consequences.”

  “She’s fearless.”

  “Children are fearless. They believe they are immortal. It never lasts. We must face fear and overcome it or surrender to it.”

  They stood in the Baptistery’s doorway, where they could feel the spice-bloated air of the cool darkness.

  “Can Rasenna change?” Giovanni asked after a moment.

  “It must, or must die. The street tells us to ignore fear; that’s why we’ve torn ourselves apart ever since your people showed us how cheap life is. That’s all she knows too. But when she finds someone to love and the fear that comes with it, oh, Virgin help her!”

  “Fear?”

  “Certainly. Fear of dropping one’s flag, fear of losing love, fear of being rejected, fear of being unworthy: the beast has many forms. Sofia must grow up or drown in it. She’ll need your help, Giovanni. You came to Rasenna to make up for the past, and you can.”

  He looked away. Impossible; how could she know? Yet he’d seen other impossible things tonight. “How?” he asked.

  “Fight for her when the hour comes,” she said, then went inside.

  She watched the engineer walk away and called out, “You can come out now, Lucia.”

  The novice, a long-limbed girl younger than Sofia, emerged from behind the font.

  “Get to bed,” the nun growled. “Remember your vows!”

  Rasenna was still locked up in her towers when Giovanni returned to the bridge. The sun tinted the river a
bloodless yellow, washing away the night’s sadness. The nun had said Rasenna must change or perish, but that didn’t help today or tomorrow. If the bridge was not ready for Luparelli’s army, Rasenna would pay. No use trying to rise above the conflict. Like it or not, he was waist-deep.

  He could throw his tools away if he sent for reinforcements—the crew would never trust him again. The other option was to play the game like a Rasenneisi: climb back into the pit ready to get dirty. Sofia was right about one thing: prayers were worthless at a time like this. But as he walked to Tower Bardini, he prayed she would understand.

  CHAPTER 20

  The greatest irony of the Second Italic War is that Rasenna’s early success persuaded Concord to use its greatest—and as then unused—asset. Bernoulli was not yet twenty when the Curia founded the Engineers’ Guild in Thirteen and Twenty-Eight and appointed him First Engineer.9 He set to work with enthusiasm, though keener perhaps to apply principles discovered in his anatomical studies than to bolster Concord’s ailing war effort.

  Unlike previous anatomists, Bernoulli was unhindered by the Curia’s traditional prohibitions: they forbade only dissecting corpses. If his technique of “wet dissection” required immense numbers of experimental subjects, the resulting data was also immense.10 He created engines with the moving joints and suppleness of living flesh and, with them, turned the course of the war. The Guild’s real importance, as we shall see, is not how it hastened the inevitable decline of Rasenna but how it brought about the unthinkable: the end of the Curia.

  CHAPTER 21

  Mule laughed as the Doctor disarmed his brother with a tap on the wrist.

  “Secondo, how many times? Hold that thing correctly! Too loose and you’re not in control. Too tight and you’ll lack flow. Now tell me, Mule, how long is your stick?”

  “Ask Maddalena Bombelli,” Secondo sniggered.

  The Doctor ignored him. “Hold it straight. What point will it reach? Here?” He pointed in the air, then again, “Or here?”

  Mule shrugged. “Merda—”

  “Practice, the knowledge will come. Avanti!”

  The Borselinno came for him with sincerity. Full-contact training was what gave Bardini’s black flag its snap. After a few passes, the Doctor suddenly knelt to simultaneously snatch their flags.

  “Less bad but still bad. What was your mistake?”

  “Let you get too close,” said Secondo breathlessly.

  “Didn’t hit you?” offered Mule.

  “Those are just the effects caused by lousy priorities! Concentrate on the man. Your flag is to distract me—if you let it distract you, you’ve lost before you begin. A bandieratoro must learn to be still as the world moves or he’s lost. Secondo, you’re not listening.”

  “Look who’s here—”

  “Captain!” the Doctor cried joyfully.

  He threw the brothers their practice sticks, and if he noticed the blood on Giovanni’s clothes, he didn’t show it. “This is overdue; I won’t count last night a proper visit. Come see my wonderful view!”

  Behind the slender rooftops, the Irenicon shone white in the crisp morning light. The Doctor sat at the low table by the orange tree.

  “I see why you like it up here,” said Giovanni. “You see all Rasenna.”

  “The other reason is that Rasenna sees me. Ever wonder why nothing bad happens in Baptisteries? Sinning’s harder when God’s watching.” He poured the tea. “I saw you in the pit the other day. Horrible business, but I was impressed. You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty.”

  “When I have to. It shouldn’t have happened.”

  There was a silence. Giovanni took a drink.

  “Why don’t you ask what you came to ask, Captain?”

  “One of my crew was murdered.”

  “No, one of my crew was murdered. Frog was a northsider. Lie to me but don’t lie to yourself. You’re here because of your bridge.”

  “Sofia was right. I should have come to you before the Signoria. Undiplomatic, perhaps, but it would have prevented this.” He gestured to his bloodstained clothes.

  “You sound like a Rasenneisi.”

  “I’m learning. I haven’t mentioned the delay in my reports to the Apprentices yet, but the pilings should be sunk before the meltwater comes. I’ll miss my chance unless the saboteurs are stopped.”

  “And brought to justice?” the Doctor asked innocently. “Who do you believe responsible?”

  “Stopped, I said. Morello, obviously,” Giovanni said with growing exasperation.

  “Why not tell the Signoria?”

  “It’s ineffective, as you’ve made it. I want Bardini colors over the bridge.”

  “You say it like a simple thing. It may mean—”

  “I know what protection means! That’s why I came to you. You’re more dangerous than Morello.”

  “I’m blushing, Captain! I accept. Consider me your trusted ally!”

  “That’s a problem, Doctor, trusting you.”

  He rubbed his chin for a while. “I’ll think of something to make it easier.”

  The Concordian stood. “Thank you for the tea.”

  “Surely you won’t leave without threatening me?”

  “I wish my country loved peace, but we know it does not. It will go hard for Rasenna if I am delayed. I want to avoid more blood.”

  “I believe you, Captain.”

  After he left, the Doctor watched the river for a while. He held a knife in one hand. His grin, the lively spark in his eyes, all expression, drained gradually from his face. His breathing slowed to the in and out of a tide.

  The Doctor was leaning over the side, his back to her. There was a small yellow box on the table.

  “I want you to guard the bridge.”

  She yawned. “I’ve been keeping an eye.”

  “I know, but I want you to be seen doing it. I want Bardini flags flying over the bridge in an hour.”

  “We said we wouldn’t get involved! Giovanni doesn’t want—”

  “He came here this morning to invite me.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  The Doctor handed her the box. She noticed his little finger was bandaged. “Been hearing that lots lately. Tell him this represents how seriously I take Concord’s friendship.”

  She opened it to find a silk handkerchief wrapped around something bloody. “What’s this?”

  “A declaration of loyalty in terms Concordians understand. To protect their bridge, we’re ready to spill blood. I thought you’d be happy—you finally get to throw your weight around. Take a decina with you.”

  “Why upset the truce?”

  “Sofia, I give you what you want and you question it—and you wonder why I can’t trust you? The first rule is obedience.”

  Sofia turned away in anger as the Doctor scratched his chin and murmured, “Quintus Morello understands now that the bridge is key to your secure reign. That’s why he wants to stop it.”

  “Then why did you insist on Secondo as overseer? He did nothing but cause trouble till the engineer sent him home.”

  “Because Quintus Morello’s brain moves slowly, and the crew was splitting at the seams. Nothing brings people together like a common enemy; until Morello was ready to act, it was necessary to be that enemy.”

  “You weren’t surprised by Frog’s murder.”

  Now he looked at her, his eyes snapping. “How dare you! If I’d known, I’d have stopped it.” He turned and looked back at the bridge.

  “But you knew something would happen and then the engineer would come calling. You sit up here and weave plots when it shouldn’t be complicated. Yesterday, we should have gone to war. Now, instead of doing something real, we’re going watch a construction site. And when it’s finished, what then?”

  He walked over to her until they were face to face and said, “What then? That’s the hour we march over. That’s why we need the bridge, Sofia. We’re stronger, but as long as the Irenicon divides us, we can’t use that strength. I
t’s obvious, and Quintus can’t avoid seeing that every day the bridge gets longer, his end gets closer. I mourn the dead, but I rejoice at what’s coming; you’re too young to know the virtue of patience. We’ll strike, but we want a clean kill when we do. And until then—”

  Sofia grimaced. “I know: we wait. Fine. I’ll watch the bridge while our allies get slaughtered and you stay safe in your tower. I hope the hour comes before they burn it down.”

  Sofia went down to the ground-floor kitchen to make breakfast. As she cooked, Cat repeatedly attempted to infiltrate the larder until she lost patience and hurled a plate at it. She had grown up fending for herself; the Doctor wanted her to be independent, just like Cat. That Doc, the one who didn’t meddle like other parents, Sofia loved. There was another—watchful, secretive, and unendingly patient—that she was coming to hate.

  She heard Valerius enter—his heavy footsteps were unmistakable—but kept her back turned. He helped himself to the last drop of broth, then sat opposite her. “Why so glum?”

  She was giving serious thought to feeding Cat Doc’s finger.

  “Ah, I think I know. I could tell my father about the escalation if you like. Citizens of the Empire shouldn’t live under the shadow of civil discord.”

  “I’m not in the mood for Imperial propaganda this morning.”

  “Don’t be like that, Sofia. I can help. Concordians know politics like Rasenneisi know fighting; I see what’s happening. The Bardini aren’t the power they were.”

  “Bardini run Rasenna.”

  “For the moment, maybe. What about that burnout the other night? That makes how many this month?”

  Sofia pointed a fork at him. “Study Art Banderia as closely as you study politics and maybe you’ll be capable of holding a flag properly before we’re rid of you.”

  “Madonna! I only wanted to sympathize! If I’d known you were so touchy, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

  She stabbed a ham slice. His prying annoyed her less than his presumption—eating in Tower Bardini instead of the workshop, aping Rasenneisi dialect—and since when did Concordians call on the Virgin?

  Valerius tried a different tack. “What about the accident on the bridge? That’s insult enough to Concord. My father—”