Anina greeted him at the foot of the stair, took his hand, and led him to an enormous breakfast of boiled eggs, sausages, bacon, and muffins with coffee, on the wrought-iron table in the garden. As Anna had said, a migration of yellow wagtail had landed within the walls, and were resting and cheeping on the branches, specks of sunlight given wing.
“They came at dawn,” Anina said. “I love to watch them play.”
“At the moment they aren’t very playful,” Carter observed. “They look ready to roost.”
She seemed briefly annoyed. “Their play is the quiet of Being. Nothing else is required.”
“No, I suppose not.”
After breakfast they sat sipping cinnamon tea, watching the sun climb above the walls until it heated the flagstones. Wearying of the warmth, they moved indoors, where Anina took her place once more upon the ivory couch. She was dressed exactly as the night before, though the clothes looked fresh, as if they had been laundered in the night. The new day stole none of her dark beauty.
“I have not sufficiently thanked you for your hospitality,” he said. “Yesterday was the first peaceful day I have had since I returned to Evenmere. I dreamed last night I was a child again, rocked in my mother’s arms. I have seldom felt so comforted.”
“It is nothing; there are no chance meetings. I hope it is only the first day of many. Now come, sit beside me.” She indicated the chair where he had rested the day before. Taking the silver bell, she summoned her servant, who brought another tray of fruit, with bread, cheese, and apple juice in silver goblets.
“It is fortunate you found Anna,” Anina said. “Old Chaos would like to have her. Ever it tries to ruin all I have, and ever I must defend myself.”
“Why does it hate you so?”
“It hates anything which is well ordered; it hates all the good things.”
They spoke a long hour, and finally she drew out her small harp, and played again, as beautifully as the day before, though Carter noticed she played no new songs, but the same ones in the same order. Once more the music touched him, evoking images of himself as the owner of this emerald-stoned tower, spending the days with her, each hour as lovely as the next. With her by his side, he would sweep the anarchists away, and together they would establish a reign that would last a thousand years, greater than King Arthur’s, for Carter’s Guinevere would never fail him.
When her playing ended, he shook himself, abashed by the arrogance of his daydreams, but she gave him little time for reflection as she plunged once more into storytelling. Again, the tales were masterpieces of narrative, recited with the genius of an artisan, but Carter soon realized these were the same stories as the day before, told in the same sequence and manner.
When she finished, he sighed and said, “You have marvelous gifts, your singing and your tales.”
“I cannot do everything,” she replied. “But what I do, I do well.”
They sat through the rest of the long afternoon, and she questioned him once more, asking him to tell again of his childhood in the great house, of his father and mother, Brittle, Chant, and Enoch. Because he had done so the day before, he began reluctantly, but she prodded him, insisting he leave out nothing he had said before. He saw in this a childlike quality, a desire to hear the same story again and again, and he thought it flattering, though he became hesitant when she demanded the tale of his theft of the Master Keys again, and of his subsequent exile. Still, she laughed at his humor and nearly wept at his sorrows, so that he thought her extraordinary.
As the afternoon waned, and she invited him into the garden, he insisted upon seeking the Clock Tower once more. He went alone, and again found Chaos sitting before the secret doorway, as if guarding it. With a chilled heart he returned to her apartments.
She escorted him around the garden once more, showing him all her flowers, her ivies, and her shrubs. Afterward they worked in the tulips, which he found somewhat frustrating, for she was precise in her desires, and he did not believe nature should behave so symmetrically.
Anna came and quietly watched them work, though she said little, and Carter realized he had not seen her since she had woke him that morning. He guessed she had been playing alone in her apartments.
More than once that evening he sought a path back to Enoch, but each time Chaos blocked his way. Finally, he had no choice but to dispatch another message by way of pigeon. He slept that night in the same room, though not as well as before.
Anna roused him with the same words of the previous day, her face aglow, “The yellow birds have come into the garden. Will you see?”
She departed and he arose. With a sigh, he opened the window and measured with his eye the distance between that tower and the Clock Tower. By traveling the rooftops, he thought he saw a way he might go, given rope from his pack and good fortune.
As on the morning before, Anina met him at the bottom of the stairs and brought him to the garden for breakfast, to listen to the cheeping of the yellow wagtail.
“They came at dawn,” Anina said. “I love to watch them play. How was your rest?”
“Why, I had a most peculiar dream,” Carter said. “I dreamed I was taken to heaven, where I stood before God and worshiped Him, and was filled with ecstacy. And the worshiping and the ecstacy were endless, so my face was turned always toward Him. And I never did anything else. And though I was filled with delight, I kept thinking there must be more to heaven, that He would expect us to serve more purpose than this, and that perhaps I had gone to hell instead.”
Her face darkened at his words, but she said, “In this you err, for the repetition of ritual is the highest calling, and true joy is found only within it. I will show you much concerning this.”
Then Carter knew for certain with whom he dealt, and he vowed to be firm in his resolve.
The day proceeded as the one before, and what had been pleasure became only tedious. They sipped the same cinnamon tea, watched the same sun rise above the walled court, and retired indoors as the day grew warm. Anina sat once more upon her ivory couch, dressed exactly the same, while they ate the same meal of bread, cheese, and fruit. Despite the goodness of the apple juice, it tasted as ashes of disappointment to Carter, and the harp music that had entranced him before left him cold. Though he became impatient at her moribund tales, he sat impassive.
Apparently, she saw none of this, for when she was done she took his hand, kissing it, and said, “Three days we have spent together, and three hundred more would not be enough. You must know by now I love you, for I see in you all I have desired. Stay with me forever, and we will live a life of pleasure. I will give you your every yearning, over and over, in its time and place. You will never want.”
“And could you give me passion, lady?” he asked softly.
She kissed him fiercely then, a kiss like hot wind, and for a moment, as it took his breath away, he desired only to possess her beauty. But he knew even this would become wearisome, and he drew her from him, though it took all his will.
“I must see if Chaos still waits at the door,” he said. “We will speak of this later.”
“First, tell me again of yourself. Tell me your whole story, for I can never hear it enough.”
“When I return, I will.”
He departed quickly, lest his resolve fail him, stopping only long enough to fetch his pack. He did not go back to the room where he knew Chaos surely waited, but found a stairway leading down from the corridor of the window seats to the next floor, which contained a similar passage, with long rows of glass. He chose one and unlocked it; the window opened with a screech. He took a rope from his pack, secured it to the head of a gargoyle, slid himself over the sill, and began a careful descent toward the rooftops below. From there, he hoped to cross to the Clock Tower and find a way to Enoch.
He was not particularly bothered by heights; if his position had not been so serious he would have enjoyed the climb. Numerous statues and outcroppings provided bountiful purchases. He was surprised to see the cl
oud cover had returned, threatening further rain, leaving the air refreshingly cool, but not cold. For a moment he felt wildly free, and he knew he had escaped an exceedingly subtle trap.
He had climbed only a few feet, and was still high above the roofs when he heard a voice above him. Little Anna leaned out the window, the glistening blade of a knife poised against the rope.
“Please come up, sir, or I will surely cut it,” she said.
He glanced around, but saw no immediate handhold. Two men, dressed in white helmets, stood beside her.
He kicked off with his legs, and released the rope slightly, repelling down the side of the building, his hands burning from the friction.
He had covered almost half the distance to the rooftops below when the line went slack, dropping him like a stone.
Captured
He reeled downward, partially breaking his fall with his hands upon the smooth sides of a stone stallion, an effort that nearly pulled his arms from their sockets before he slipped away, continuing his plunge, every moment of the descent filled with agonizing detail. He saw his own flailing hands, the pink of his fingernails in the sunlight, the leaves of ivy upon the receding windows, the cracks in the mortar of the building fleeing past. He saw the blue sky and the wisps of cloud.
He landed on his back upon a wooden housing that buckled beneath him. His senses fled.
When he revived he was no longer on the rooftop, but lying on an ivory couch in the white chambers of Anina, while she bathed his brow with a cool cloth. He was wholly surprised to be alive, though it was a time before he could recall himself to speech. He moved his hands, arms, and legs carefully, and though they gave him pain, he did not think anything was broken. He poked his own ribs, and even curled his back slightly; though all was a mass of bruises he seemed mostly whole. He slept for a time.
When he awoke she was still with him. She fed him fruit juice mixed with honey, bending over him, tears in her eyes. Almost he loved her again for it.
“Why did you flee me?” she asked. “I, who would have given you everything?”
“Because I know who you are, and I feared you.”
“Only my enemies need fear me. And what do you know of me, truly?”
“You are Order Incarnate, or something of the sort, no more human than Old Man Chaos.”
“It only means I can offer you even more. Not just love, but eternal life, for I am immortal, and you could reign with me in my kingdom. Am I not pleasant to look upon? Did we spend these past three days in bliss? I could show you Love Unending, for I am perfect in my love.”
“And in your hate as well, I suppose? I am sorry. You are a tool of the anarchists; I won’t become one as well.”
She looked at him with sad, cold eyes, and as she looked, a vapor rose about her, steaming from her clothes and garments, until they became the steam, and all of her evaporated away, leaving only her face lying on the floor like a flat piece of dried leather, her eyes inanimate as a mask. As Carter drew back in horror, Anna entered the room, quite prim in a white dress with matching shoes, gloves, and hat.
“She is of no further value,” the little girl said.
His throat was dry. “You are the one behind it all?”
“She and I are both the same, manifestations of Order. As you have guessed, we are Primeval Force. But Order is always a child.”
“Serving the anarchists.”
“Serving our own ends,” she said sweetly. “When the Bobby comes to power he has promised us certain … territorial advantages over Chaos. It is our most ardent desire, for the Old Man is bedlam, dissolution, the Void. We would bring complete Order to the universe.”
“Yet Chaos blocked my path and aided you.”
“Perhaps the Bobby has promised him something as well. That is not my concern.”
He watched her, and after a time she said, “Why do you sit silent? Will you not reason with me?”
“Better reason with a flooding stream. I don’t believe you are aware, at least in the way of men. You are a form of power, like magnetism, that the Bobby is using, as I would use a hammer. Discourse is useless. What will you do with me?”
“I had hoped you would join us. Failing that, we will keep you here until the Bobby comes. It is not an easy journey for him.”
She had him bound, though gently because of his injuries, and she placed a leather band over his mouth so he could not cry out. Then she left him with a white-cloaked guard at his side, possessing eyes with neither pupil nor iris.
He had seldom felt so miserable, and he stared at the empty mask of Anina and wept bitterly the tears all spurned lovers must shed. But after a time his anger focused on the Bobby, and he resolved to escape before his enemy appeared. It occurred to him that he had been gagged so he could not speak the Words of Power. These, he enumerated to himself: Talheedin, the Word of Secret Ways: Sedhattee, The Word Which Gives Strength; neither seemed useful here. Rahmurrim, The Word of Hope. It would not help. Only Elahkammor, The Word Which Brings Aid, could be useful, though assistance might be too far away.
He emptied his mind of all thought, gradually instilling a calm bereft of any consideration of either Anina or the Bobby. Then, he slowly summoned the Word into his mind. At first, he could not hold the image, but it eventually grew more substantial, its letters blazing like fire, and as its power rose within him, he tried to release it, but it came out only as a muffled breath behind the gag. A backlash of power followed, a squeezing force so mighty he could not breathe. Darkness and light flashed before his eyes; he felt as if he were being ripped apart one molecule at a time and for an instant he thought all of his blood vessels would explode at once. He must have screamed behind his gag, for the guard cuffed the side of his head with an armored hand, turning his pain to anger, so that he strained against his bonds to strike back.
The ringing in his head and the rage subsided together, leaving him dissipated. He could not master his thoughts for a time thereafter, but sat uncomprehending as a man on opiates. When at last he returned to himself, he trembled as if from cold, and sat forlorn, every muscle aching, sweat stinging his eyes, his hands chafed from his struggles against the bonds. A long hour passed before he had any strength at all, and then another before he could conceive of a plan.
He had only one hope, and that a slim one, to use the Word without speaking it aloud. He rested for the space of a dozen breaths, drawing his strength around him once more.
Again, he summoned the Word into his mind. At first it was dim, but gradually it grew within him as before. He knew he must make it real, call its power into the world as if it had been spoken, and he centered all his being upon it, bringing it this time not into his throat, but into the midst of his mind, holding it there until it seemed he held a fiery brand, the Word of Power written across it like a banner.
And suddenly, he no longer held the brand, but had become it. Or rather, it had become part of him, as if the Word had burned itself upon his soul. Before that moment, the Words had been tools; afterward they lay, deep as his bones, within him. Now, he was truly their master, and for the briefest moment he reveled in the power that filled him.
When he released the Word the room shook, the air roared, its power coming not from him, but from everywhere at once. The guard, thrown against the wall like a wooden soldier, lay broken, senseless, one arm bent at an impossible angle. Carter’s chains dropped from him, and he knew he would never be held against his will again.
He seized the guard’s sword from its sheath and flung the door wide, but it no longer led into the chambers of Order. Instead, a dark passageway beckoned, layered with dust, tattered paper hanging from its walls. A figure stood within, shabby and ragged, a thin taper in hand, his face lost beneath the shadows of his tall hat.
“When last we spoke you claimed you would oppose me,” Carter said.
“There is no time,” the Thin Man replied. “Come this way.”
Carter fell in line behind the dark back. “How did you arrive s
o quickly?”
“It is easy here, and I was not far. I have been blocking the Bobby’s path to you.”
Carter stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “There is something familiar about you. Who are you? Why do you help me?”
The Thin Man shrugged off the grip and continued on. “It doesn’t matter who or why. You could repay me by leaving the High House, taking Duskin with you. No man should bear this burden. Go away! Leave it to others.”
“What others? My father did not raise me to run from a fight.”
The Thin Man paused and looked back. “He did not raise you to die, either.”
“You knew him!”
“I did. Will you leave the house if I tell you he wanted it?”
“Only if I hear it from his own lips.”
The Thin Man gave an irate grunt and strode on. The passage opened out into what felt like a large chamber, for a cool wind brushed Carter’s face, and the echoes fluttered around them like bats, but he could see nothing beyond the circle of his benefactor’s candlelight.
They had gone only a short distance when a small form stepped into their path, startling Carter badly. She was still dressed in white, but her eyes were sad. “We could have given you everything,” Anna said.
The Thin Man shied from her presence, holding his hand before his eyes, unable to look upon her. “I cannot withstand her. You must help me.”
Carter raised his sword and stepped between the Thin Man and Anna.
“This sad Thing which aids you is of Chaos,” she said. “It should be destroyed.”
He did not hesitate, lest she find some way to recapture him, but struck her hard, with greater anger than he intended. She was not pierced, but broke into myriad pieces, each an exact circle no larger than his thumb, which rolled like coins across the floor, before spinning slowly into silence.
“Hurry,” the Thin Man commanded as Carter stood dumbfounded. “She can never be truly destroyed.” He led across the boards until they came to a narrow stair leading up to a gray door. The Thin Man paused at the landing.
The High House Page 18
