by Sean Russell
“But, Anna,” Banks said gently. “You’ve not seen what we recovered from Hayes’ rooms.” He slid a letter across the table. “There was much more—a journal, a sheaf of notes—but we were caught unawares and left it all behind in our panic.”
Anna picked up the letter.
“It is from this other young man Skye employed,” Delisle said. “Fenwick Kehler. We have wondered where he got to. It appears he has been researching in the Farrellite archive in Wooton!”
My Dear Hayes:
I had begun to despair of ever accomplishing my task here, no matter how hard I searched, but recently things have changed. You would not believe what I have found, sir! All that we ever dreamed and more! The archive is a mine of knowledge lost and forgotten, one must only find the vein one seeks. I will tell you much more when next we meet. I hope to be granted a few days’ leave come late spring and will travel to Avonel in all haste.
I hope this letter finds you well.
Yours always,
F. W. Kehler
“It says very little,” Anna said, surprised that Banks would think this so significant.
“So one would think, but we saw Hayes’ journal. Pages and pages about the Stranger of Compton Heath. And much speculation about Baumgere! Assuming that Kehler is still in the employ of Skye, the letter says a great deal. One should realize that Kehler must write with extreme caution. After all, he is clearly delving into matters of which the priests would not approve—and they are likely not above monitoring the correspondence of their guest scholars. No, if read in the proper light, this letter says a great deal. Skye might open the gate, and the man standing inside could well be this young scholar, Kehler. Who can guess what he has found in Wooton? We know the priests have been hoarding knowledge for centuries, and not all of it of a religious nature.”
Anna shrugged. “Do we know what has happened to Hayes? Do the Admiralty have him?”
No one answered for a second.
“We don’t know,” Kells said. “It is possible. Now that Skye has escaped their trap, it will not look good if they have taken this young man into custody. He is, after all, innocent of any crime. I don’t know what they’ll do with him. And who knows what the worthy gentlemen of the Admiralty will think if he tells them what he has been researching for Skye.”
“We needn’t worry about the Admiralty,” Halsey said suddenly, his aged, gravelly voice sounded tired and somewhat sad. “For now we must watch for any sign of Eldrich’s hand in all of this. We wait and keep our distance.”
“Certainly caution has served us well all the long years,” Anna heard herself say, “but those days are at an end. If we are too cautious now, we’ll sacrifice everything. The arts will be lost to us forever. And Eldrich will have triumphed.”
“You will learn a terrible lesson, Anna, if you persist in underestimating him,” Halsey said, some frustration in his voice. “He is a mage. Even if Eldrich is the least skilled of mages, he is still more powerful than you can imagine. You do not begin to understand what he can do. It is entirely possible that Skye does his bidding, or that the men who attempted to ruin Skye did so on behalf of the mage, whether they were aware of it or not. And we have leaped to Skye’s rescue. We have revealed ourselves. Revealed ourselves after centuries of hiding. We have been reckless enough. Now we must wait.
“It is one thing to say that the time for caution has passed and another to go running foolishly into the arms of Eldrich. I will not allow it. Imprudence now will be our ruin. Let us see what Skye will do. I don’t want to find that he has opened this much vaunted gate only to discover that the man who awaits us is no man at all—but a mage.”
“Perhaps Anna should attempt to see again. After all, we have contacted Skye. We have passed a way-point—a significant one.” Delisle glanced a bit guiltily at Anna. “Things might be clearer, now.”
Anna sat immobile. The thought of attempting augury again brought up something near to panic. She had gone down that path too often, at great cost, and more often than not there was nothing to show for it. Halsey had begun to protect her from it recently, protect her from the others who saw augury as the solution to all doubt, despite the fact that it never was. She waited for the old man to come to her rescue so that she would not have to start making excuses . . . start showing her fear.
It draws the life out of me, she thought. Can’t you see that?
Halsey did not look at her, but suddenly nodded his head, the smallest motion. “Can you bear it?” he asked looking up at her, the sadness he had nurtured all evening suddenly manifest, like the scream of a newborn.
“Of course,” she heard herself say. There was no other answer. She was no less dedicated than the others who would do anything to keep Eldrich from accomplishing his purpose.
But why is he doing it? she asked herself again. She did not know. The mages were selfish and willful. They needed no more reason than that.
They are taking the magic with them . . . somewhere.
She saw the image of Eldrich, disappearing down a corridor of the forest. Saw the world left beind. A world where augury would no longer be possible. A world where her talent had even less chance of blossoming than it did now. No chance, in fact.
She pushed back from the table, not waiting for the others. Better to lead than follow. She was the one born to talent. She was the one who would lead one day, if all went as they hoped.
She went out into the garden, into the starlight, listening to the night as she walked. Forcing her heart to be still, her mind to become calm.
I cannot be afraid, she chanted over and over again. There was a difference between not showing fear and not being afraid, and simply not showing fear would not pass here. It could even bring her to . . . well, she did not like to think about that.
They went to a small pool among the trees. Anna stopped here and breathed in the night, drew the darkness into her lungs, the starlight, the shadows. Still, they were so still. She listened for the songs of the stars—the choral stars.
They appeared before her as she closed her eyes, wavering, and then holding steady. She began a whispered chant, bending quickly to make a mark in the earth, to draw a figure of pale light.
When it held steady, she rose and stepped into the pattern, not needing to open her eyes, for the lines burned in her mind, burned so that she could feel them.
It is not pain, she told herself, though she longed to shut out the glowing lines, longed to scream.
It is not pain. She repeated the lie, knowing it was the only way to survive.
A burning heat searing her nerves like fire, like the coldest ice. Pain so terrible in its intensity that it did not seem human. Mankind could not feel such agony. Like birthing a child and then experiencing your own horrible death as the child howled.
Anna screamed, opening her eyes suddenly. Staring down into the dark sky of the pool, where the stars hung like points of white hot fire.
I’m looking into my own mind, she thought, and then stiffly tossed a pebble into the water. The stars wavered, swaying back and forth and she felt herself falling. But still she stared, waiting. Waiting. Opening herself to the emptiness, to the agony, but only for an instant. It was all she could bear. All anyone could bear. And then she shut her eyes, feeling the earth beneath her knees, hands taking hold of her.
She had seen nothing. Nothing.
Five
This particular visitor always arrived unannounced and, somehow, unexpected. Considering the amount of time that Sir John dedicated to contemplating this gentleman, and the dread he felt whenever Bryce actually appeared, it was impressive that the man invariably seemed to arrive when Sir John’s guard was down. The maid thought it very peculiar, and Sir John was sure that his own reaction made her even more suspicious. There was, however, nothing he could do about it. These visits were not a matter he controlled or even had influence upon�
��and not many things transpired in Avonel that Sir John could not influence.
It was understood that Sir John never kept this visitor waiting, no matter the hour or circumstances. He looked at the clock again in disbelief. Not even half-five—still dark, and only morning by the most liberal interpretation of the term. He bent over and stirred the coals of the fire, carefully arranging dry kindling. Mornings were cool, though that would soon change, but a fire was still a pleasure if not an absolute necessity. There was a crack from the cedar, and a thin thread of smoke streamed up. Flame erupted with a sigh.
Sir John was still dressed in his nightclothes, and felt strangely vulnerable, not that he usually felt any less vulnerable when Mr. Bryce came to call, no matter what the circumstances.
“Congratulations on your baronetcy, Sir John.” Bryce stood at the door to the drawing room. No apology for arriving at such an hour, not that Sir John expected any.
“May I?” Bryce gestured toward a chair.
“Please. Brandy? Wine? I have a fine claret from the southern slopes of Farrow.” Sir John insisted on pretending it was late at night rather than obscenely early in the morning. It made it all easier to deal with, somehow.
“Claret, please.”
Sir John poured them each a glass and took a seat by the fire. Bryce was, without a doubt, the most self-assured man Sir John had ever met—not arrogant or full of himself, but apparently without self-doubt. And the effect of this confidence on others was profound. Sir John was quite sure the King himself would defer to the man.
The odd thing about it was that Sir John, who prided himself on his ability to understand his fellow man, could not quite explain how Bryce managed to convey this degree of confidence, nor what lay at its center.
The truth was that Bryce was invariably extremely polite, even sensitive; things that Sir John did not associate with this kind of self-assurance. Power was what he thought of when he met a man with confidence, and Bryce was not typical of men who possessed power.
Sir John thought Bryce almost inhumanly precise. His dress was impeccable, his speech exact and explicit, as though it conveyed his thought perfectly and without effort. Sir John had never spoken to a man who did not occasionally grope for a word, or use some term that was less than exact—except for Bryce. The man was meticulous in every way—disturbingly so. Sir John could not escape the feeling that he was dealing with someone who had passed beyond normal human functioning.
Sir John could not imagine Bryce ever making a mistake, needing sleep. He was certain the man did not sweat. Bryce existed on some other plane and descended only occasionally to the muddled world of men, who must seem only slightly more organized and thoughful than beasts to him.
Bryce sat regarding him for a moment, sipping his wine. “I suspect the seeds you’ve sown have begun to bear fruit, Sir John.”
As a political animal Sir John had spent many years learning to keep his feelings and reactions to himself, but he was under no illusion that he could hide such things from Bryce, so no doubt what Bryce saw was the flash of fear that Sir John had just experienced.
“What has happened?” Sir John asked. Who had fallen? Moncrief or Skye?
“That is what I hope you will be able to tell me. I suggest you pay a visit to your friends in the Admiralty. Bring every little detail you gather to me. I will weigh them, Sir John. Do not presume to know what is significant yourself. Only I can decide that. Do you understand?”
Sir John nodded. This little lecture was unnecessary, for he was well aware that he had not the slightest insight into the man’s intentions. At Bryce’s instructions, Sir John had nurtured this feud between Moncrief and the Earl of Skye—though feud was hardly the right word; Moncrief never let his vendettas become public. It was one of the reasons the man was so feared. He would go about knifing you in the back and all the while you would have not the slightest sign of what was about to befall you. But by any name, Sir John had encouraged Moncrief’s jealousy and loathing of Skye. Not a task he had taken on with great joy. Sir John might not understand all the discoveries Skye had made, but he had no doubt that the man was a genius, a genius and largely benign. Benign in a society where Moncrief was the most voracious of predators, but where predators were not in the least uncommon.
“I will visit you again this night. That will give you ample time. . . .”
This was most definitely not a question, and a day would certainly not be anything like the time Sir John needed. “I . . . yes, that will be adequate.”
“Good.” Bryce looked at Sir John and attempted something like a smile. Like all other human emotions, pleasure and joy seemed beneath him, and any attempt at imitating them was doomed to sad failure—though Sir John certainly never found any amusement in such attempts.
“You do not look pleased, Sir John. Were my assurances that we intend no harm to Skye not enough?”
“More than adequate, but I suppose I still worry. Setting Moncrief against someone . . . I don’t know if there is any animal so vicious as the King’s Man.”
“Yes, it is a wonder . . . the way he walks through civilized society, as though he were actually part of it. . . .” Bryce shrugged. He was not given to philosophizing about mankind. “You admire Skye.”
“Yes,” Sir John said quickly. “Yes, I do. But not for the reasons he is admired by everyone in the nation.”
Bryce did not say anything, but waited patiently.
“I admire him for his convictions. It is no secret that Skye has had great misgivings about the use of his invention. The cannon is the deadliest weapon in the history of warfare, after all. Some say we have hardly begun to understand its uses. And look what has happened already. The battle off Cloud’s End was pressed too far, many think. It is said that the admiral of the Entonne fleet tried to surrender, but even so his ships were destroyed. They have taken poor Admiral Stewart to task for this, but it was policy. I have no doubt of it. The goal was to destroy the Entonne fleet to the last ship.” Sir John shook his head. “Barbaric, really. And so many seamen lost. It did not matter what flag they sailed under, they should have been allowed to surrender. It was nothing short of murder.
“Lord Skye is not pleased with the way the Farr government has used this advantage he has given them, and I dare say he would be less willing to give them such a weapon again.”
Bryce actually raised an eyebrow at these words. “A man of conscience,” he said, and Sir John nodded. Bryce seemed to consider this for a moment and then his focus returned, his gaze fixing on Sir John.
“Well, you needn’t worry about this moral dilemma much longer. You see the Entonne now have the ability to produce cannon and gunpowder on their own. In fact, they have been engaged in this activity for some months.”
Sir John sat forward in his chair. “How in the world . . . ? Was it Skye?”
Bryce shrugged. “I don’t know how they discovered this. It was apparently not so difficult to manage, really, not once the cannon had been invented. Even the Admiralty must have realized their advantage would be brief. No doubt that played a part in their decision to destroy the Entonne fleet—press their advantage while they still had it.”
The Entonne had the cannon?!
“You look rather surprised, Sir John. It was inevitable. And will the world be different when Entonne has the cannon? No, it will be the same as it was for the last three hundred years: neither country having an advantage. Better to have balance.”
“But my government should be informed.”
Bryce’s manner seemed to indicate that he thought this a matter of little consequence.
“If you think it’s important. I suppose it might profit you to be the first with the news. So you see? Do I not act with your best interests at heart? Was that not always our arrangement? Have you not been granted a baronetcy as a result of my efforts?”
“Are you suggesting that I’m not
worthy of this honor?” Sir John said, the words out of his mouth before he realized what he said.
Bryce only smiled. “You are thrice worthy, my dear Sir John, but worth has little to do with the granting of titles, as you well know. You have long been worthy, but never influential—at least not influential enough.”
“But whose purpose does this baronetcy suit, I often ask myself.”
“My employer’s, Sir John, make no mistake of that. My employer’s. But will it not benefit you as well? Do you not have the joy of it? Does it not gratify you to be addressed as ‘Sir John’? Speak honestly.”
“You know it does,” he said quietly, feeling a little overwhelmed.
“And I know your fear, Sir John. You worry that you will be asked to compromise your principles. Or that my employer will demand something of you that will bring about your ruin or the ruin of your good name. Is this not so?” He did not wait for an answer, as though he didn’t require confirmation of another’s thoughts. “But rest assured; my employer does not wish you ill. You’re a good and loyal servant, Sir John. Why would he endanger one such as yourself? When one has a champion race horse, only a fool would demand it run to the hounds. My employer, Sir John, is the least foolish of men, let me assure you.”
Sir John felt himself nod. One could not disbelieve Bryce. As with so many things, he was likely above lying. If he did not want Sir John to know something, he merely did not tell him. He had no qualms about that. There was always an insidious logic to any claim Bryce made. Sir John often wondered if he were not merely under the man’s influence, bespelled by his superior logic and overwhelming self-confidence. Was he losing sight of his own principles, or merely learning to see the world more clearly, tutored by this stranger who came to him at all hours?
Bryce waited patiently, almost watching Sir John’s thought processes.
“I will find out what I can,” Sir John said.
