by Glen Cook
The Principatè listened. Hecht described the creepy feelings he sometimes got and that Bechter sometimes saw a particular man when that feeling got to him.
“I may have seen this man myself, once or twice. Bechter says he looks a lot like Grade Drocker a few years before his misfortune. Though shorter.”
Delari frowned. Drocker’s passing still pained him.
Hecht preferred to avoid the subject, too. Because Drocker’s unhealing wounds, that claimed him eventually, had been his fault.
“Sir, I’m just reporting hearsay. I didn’t know Grade Drocker before his misfortune.”
“What happened to my son still troubles me, Piper. A lot. You can’t imagine how much. But talking around the sides of it doesn’t help. Say what you mean if you have something to say.”
“Yes, sir. Though there isn’t anything else to say, now.”
“How is your Anna doing?”
“She’s worried.” Hecht explained.
“We haven’t learned anything more from the man who was butchered. No one claimed his body. Other than the usual sailors and embassy people, there aren’t many Pramans around. The dead man doesn’t seem to have any local connections. If we had anyone capable, I’d try raising his shade.”
“Sir!” That lurked at the edge of the blackest of sins imaginable.
Osa Stile looked shaken, too.
Might Hagid bin Nassim have known Osa Stile, back in Dreanger?
Possibly. Hagid’s father might have been in on the planning. But had Osa seen the corpse?
“Only thinking out loud. Tell Anna not to worry. We’ll arrange for her to feel more comfortable.” The old man might have been decreeing a new law of nature.
Chip by chip, glacially, another face emerged from the facade of the doddering Principatè Muniero Delari. Was this the real Eleventh Unknown? Hecht was certain, now, that Muniero Delari was the heavyweight sorcerer far peoples believed members of the Collegium to be.
“Herren, stop that!”
“You don’t like it, Captain-General?”
“I like it altogether too much. Stop it.”
Osa Stile snickered. So did both girls. But Herren desisted.
Delari made a tiny gesture. Osa’s amusement stopped instantly.
Osa might not be as much in control as he wanted.
“There are two worlds, Piper. This is particularly true in the Church,” Principatè Delari said. They were under the Chiaro Palace, overlooking the huge map. Hecht saw no obvious changes. “But it’s true everywhere, every when. There’s the raucous old world of everyday passion, pain, and corruption. The one where we come of age, basically. Then there’s the world few touch but which most are sure exists.
That’s the world of secret powers and secret masters. The silent kingdom. The silent kingdom shapes the raucous world without revealing itself. Just as surely as do the Instrumentalities of the Night, though with more direction and purpose. The silent kingdom hides in the secret spaces between mankind and the Night.”
Hecht asked, “This is a common belief amongst men of talent?”
Delari peered at him intently, sniffing after the thought behind the question.
“Some of us have a foot in the world between. Knowing about it only because we’ve been shown.
Others, like our Special Office brethren, are too ideological to contribute.”
“And get shown for no obvious reason? Because of the murky motives of those already inside?”
The curtain had been opened enough for one day. The Principatè changed topic. “Has the girl spoken yet?”
“Uh.. Vali?”
“Yes.”
“Not where any adult can hear. She talks to Pella. Occasionally. Sometimes Pella deigns to tell us what’s on her mind. Mainly, she’s worried about what’s going to happen to her. You find out anything about her?”
“No. There is a Vali Dumaine but she’s Countess of Bleus. The wife of the Count who got into it with Anne of Menand. They don’t have children. She’s twenty-nine. Rumor says evil sorcery keeps her from conceiving. It also says Anne means to buy the Archbishop of Salpeno with the Dumaine honors.”
“She’s giving everything away.”
“She’s a determined woman.”
“With everything to gain. I see that.”
Hecht could not understand how one harlot could become so influential.
Delari mused, “She must be quite something in private.”
“Curious?”
“Intellectually. I’d like to meet her.”
“Uhm. But you can’t hazard even a guess about where my Vali fits?”
“Beyond stipulating that circumstantial evidence suggests that she does, no.”
“But if the Brotherhood of War was interested … Sir! I just had an unpleasant thought. A connection I didn’t see before.”
“Yes?”
The old man reminded Hecht of the pensioner instructors at the Vibrant Spring School, waiting for him to state a conclusion he had had trouble reaching.
“Sir, the people holding Vali were conspiring with the Special Office. Who sent me to the House of the Ten Galleons in the first place.”
“So you’ve just realized that they must know where the girl is?”
“I’m a little dim sometimes, sir. I’m a fighting soldier, remember.”
“Can you take it another step? Or two?”
“Sir?”
“Have they decided that it’s better for Vali to be with you, out of sight, safe from people whose loyalties are commercial? Did they set you up to spirit the girl out of Sonsa?”
“I couldn’t guess, sir. My thinking tends to be more linear.”
“I understand. It’s one of your charms. Quite possibly the main reason that Bronte Doneto recommended you to his cousin. You’re a sharp blade that looks like it can be used with little danger of cutting both ways.”
Hecht wished Gordimer the Lion believed that. “Maybe. But he also thinks he can manipulate me if he wants.”
Delari grunted. “There’s still another possibility, Piper. And it seems the most obvious and likely to me.”
‘Sir?”
‘Did the girl just make up a story to win help getting out of an awful situation? Creating fictitious personal histories isn’t exactly unheard of, Piper.”
“Uh … I’ll ask Pella about that.”
“Good. Do. There’s nothing new here. Just more of the same, worsening at a frightening rate. Will all the water in all the seas end up part of the ice? Will even Firaldia go under?”
Hecht thought Firaldia would drown in refugees first.
The great map did show that there would be no quick, direct confrontation over Clearenza. The passes to the heart of the Grail Empire were closed. A courier might make his way out of the continental heartland, but no armed force ould make the transit for months yet.
Hecht asked, “Do we know where Lothar and his sisters are?” Johannes Blackboots had preferred the Imperial cities of Firaldia, Plemenza in particular. He liked to stay close enough to tweak Sublime’s nose when the mood took him.
“Hogwasser. In Lothar’s case.”
“Sir?”
“Sorry. Bad joke. Hochwasser. Means ‘high water,’ literally, but generally translates as ‘flood.’ The name goes back to antiquity. When it was called something else that meant the same thing.”
Imperial times. Today it served as the headquarters for Hecht knew a little about Hochwasser because he claimed to have passed through during his journey south from Duarnenia. It was a military city, of sorts, and had been since old Imperial times. Today it served as the headquarters of the Grail Emperor’s lifeguard, the Braunsknechts.
The concept of even that limited a standing force found little favor among the Imperial nobility. Anything that strengthened the Emperor necessarily weakened the noble class.
Delari said, “Lothar is at Hochwasser. Katrin is either there or at Grumbrag. There’s some doubt about Helspeth.” The Principal gestured at
the grand map. “Don’t let that lull you. If Lothar decides something needs doing he has people here who can make our lives miserable. Follow me.”
Hecht did so, down to the main floor, passing monks and nuns engrossed in their work. One of the latter appeared to be extremely gravid.
Principatè Delari approached a heavy wooden door. Ancient, bound in spell-wrought iron, it looked capable of withstanding assault from barbarian or Night. A shelf in the stone to its right bore several oldtime brass lanterns of the sort once carried by Imperial night couriers. They even had an Imperial seal on the adjustable shutter that controlled the amount of light emitted. Delari chose one, checked its fuel level, lighted it from a candle at the end of the shelf. Tallow spills showed that a candle burned there all the time.
“Open the door, Piper.”
The door was not locked, latched, or barred. Hecht pulled. It opened.
Cold, damp air greeted him. It smelled of raw sewage and very old death.
“The catacombs?”
“Exactly.” Delari nodded. “They’re real. Take a lantern yourself. Never come down here without one.”
“I don’t want to be down here at all. Not if half the stories are true.”
“They aren’t. But the reality can be worse. The light from these lanterns repels things of the Night.”
Hecht sorted through the lanterns. They all seemed fully fueled. He took the heaviest on the theory that it would last the longest. He lighted it, tried to look ready. If go he must.
Delari chuckled. “Remember, down here, as in the world above, the worst monsters go on two legs and have mothers who love them.”
Why would we want to be down here?”
“Sometimes a man needs to move around without being seen.” That sounded too pat. “What about your mother?”
The Principatè had moved into the tunnel, which was lined in stone set without mortar, using an Old Brothen technique. The question caught Hecht off guard. “Sir?”
“I was curious about your mother.”
Hecht temporized, trying to recall anything he had told anyone about the woman. “I expect she’d agree with most mothers. Piper is a good boy. He didn’t mean any harm. He couldn’t possibly do anything bad.
I didn’t know her, though, sir. She died when I was quite young. Childbed fever.”
“And your father?”
“He was a good Chaldarean. In Duarnenia that means he got to heaven early. I don’t remember him at all. They say he came home just often enough to keep my mother pregnant.”
Delari seemed amused. He did not pursue the subject. ‘The catacombs here belong to us.” He did not define “us.”
“They’re safe. Most of the time. There are wards. And watchers. Not much gets past. But you can’t count on being safe. Always carry your own lantern.”
The footing grew damper. The stone had been plastered at one time. The plaster had fallen into the muck underfoot.
The Principatè said, “We’re near the Teragi, but deeper down. We could visit the Castella or Krois. Or cross over to the north side, if we wanted. But that isn’t something you need to know how to do yet.”
Hecht muttered, “This is real silent kingdom country.” He saw no evidence of life. No rats. No spiders.
No vermin whatsoever.
“You’re uncomfortable.”
“I don’t like tight places. Tight places underground are worse.”
Delari chuckled.
Evidently he found everything humorous today.
Hecht asked, “Where are the vermin?”
“Cruel things roam down here. They don’t care what they eat. Including you and me if they could catch us.”
“That’s no help.”
Delari chuckled yet again. “You’re in the underworld now, Piper. Like in the old mythology.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for black rivers and blind boatmen.”
“If he was down here for real he’d get knocked in the head and robbed of the passage money.”
“You’re so reassuring. Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular. I’m suffering from an inclination to share Collegium secrets.” Delari turned left into a cross tunnel. That led to a huge chamber. The lanterns revealed no farther walls, only ranks of ancient colonnades marching off into the darkness. It looked like an abandoned cathedral at midnight. A cathedral abandoned for ages. Debris lay everywhere. The lantern light took on a blue-white hue.
Everything appeared in shades of bluish gray. Dust was thick and cobwebs ubiquitous.
And there were bones. Bones great and small, everywhere. Ugly bones, some of them. Bones that Hecht did not find familiar. Perhaps bones not human. There was little odor of decay.
Delari said, “Flesh doesn’t last long enough to putrefy down here.”
Some larger bones had been broken, presumably to expose the marrow.
“Another silent kingdom.”
“Not always. Though it is now. Bats sometimes establish colonies that don’t last. Sometimes pagans celebrate demonic rituals. Which is an ironic twist. This is where the earliest Chaldareans got together to worship and to hide their dead. Now the demon worshipers use the far end, over there. And break into the crypts to get bodies to use in their wicked rites.”
“Really? How do they do that?”
“Excuse me?”
“What do they do with the bodies? There was a story I heard when I was little. Overheard, actually, and only part of it, because I was supposed to be asleep. The storyteller claimed it came out of the Grand Marshes and every word was true. It was colorful. But he only got to the part where the three brothers who were the heroes were coming home with the mummies of some oldtime sorcerers when I started sneezing. I got whipped and sent to bed and never did find out why they wanted the mummies in the first place.”
Delari’s frown was obvious, despite the lighting. “This was a story?”
“Up north we have traveling storytellers. Like jongleurs down here. Only they don’t usually sing. And they don’t tell love stories. They’re really grim hero stories, mostly. They always claim the stories are true, but mostly you know better. This storyteller — I can’t remember his name — was famous for scary stories.
This one about stealing mummies sounded real.”
“Mummified sorcerers, you say?”
“Yes, sir.” Had he said too much?
“Interesting. Tell me more.”
“Sir?”
“Who were the heroes? Where did they go for their mummies? Who were the dead men?”
“I was five years old, sir. Pybus. That was the name of the brother who was in charge. I remember that.
It was all his idea. And there was a … Flogni? Something like that. He was the one who said they shouldn’t disturb the dead. But he went along because brothers have to stick together. The place they were looking for was in the mountains way off to the east. It was a secret tomb. I don’t know how they knew where to find it. One of the oldtime horse people conquerors was buried there. One of the ones that those people still worship. The sorcerers in the story were murdered and buried at the points of the winds so their spirits would protect the tomb. They’d be in such a rage about what happened to them, they’d destroy anybody who got close enough to notice. The one buried in the south was a woman who was also the conqueror’s lover. She laid some kind of curse on his tribe when she found out what they were going to do to her.”
“Good story. I wouldn’t mind hearing the original.” Principatè Delari never stopped moving, staying close to the wall, going round to their right. Hecht suspected they were making a long, slow circle, the Principatè operating with no specific destination. Delari said, “I’ve heard a story something like it, only this one happened in Lucidia.”
“Sir?”
“There’s a hidden fortress in the Idium desert in Lucidia called Andesqueluz. Carved out of the living rock of a mountain. A long time ago an ugly, murderous cult operated out of there. They were extermina
ted by the rest of the world. Which always happens when that kind of people gets too ambitious. A few years back the great mage of Dreanger, er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen, sent a band of Sha-lug warriors to Andesqueluz to steal the mummies of the slain sorcerers.”
“Er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen?” He mispronounced it. “Wasn’t that the one …?”
“He was at al-Khazen. Yes. We distracted him while you and the Emperor eliminated his associates. We couldn’t keep him from getting away. I expect he’s back home and up to some other mischief.”
“So what would he want with dead bodies? Well, you said mummies. That’s not quite the same thing.”
“Specifically, mummified sorcerers who were of the first water when they were alive. Some of the worst ever. More than one lord of Andesqueluz ascended before death dragged the rest down.”
“Uh … Ascended?” Hecht knew next to nothing about sorcery. He would have been damned if he did.
“They worked sorceries powerful enough to make themselves over into Instrumentalities of the Night.
Demons, if you will. The djinn of the east were all human once. The cruel immortality was once much less difficult to achieve, and the more so near the Wells of Ihrian. One would suspect that the Dreangerean has a scheme to transform himself.” Delari took careful steps sideways. Hecht followed, round a skeleton wrapped in scraps of rotted linen. The skull had wisps of hair attached. The empty eye sockets seemed to track him.
There were dozens of skeletons, then. Someone had ripped open countless crypts. “No jewelry,” Hecht noted. Grave robbers.”
“No. These are the earnest Brothen Chaldareans. They didn’t believe in jewelry. They took nothing to the grave but what they brought into the world when they were born.”
“Times have changed.”
“Human nature will prevail.”
“If this sorcerer can turn himself into a god … Well, what’s he likely to do if he does?”
“The conventional wisdom says ascendants lose interest in their old lives. They get busy doing the same old things inside the Night, going after more and more power. But that’s really just speculation. Nobody really knows. They don’t come back to chat about what it’s like on the other side. And there hasn’t been a lot of it happening in recent centuries. Stop!”
