The Seventh Sigil

by Margaret Weis

  D’argent gave a wry smile. “I can well imagine what Stephano has told you about me. I am his friend, though he may not believe it.” His smile vanished. “Now, tell me what is wrong. First, where is Benoit?”

  “He suffered a great shock that affected his heart,” said Miri. “I gave him a potion and sent him to bed. My sister, Gythe, is with him.”

  “The matter is not serious, is it?” D’argent asked worriedly.

  “I don’t think so,” said Miri. She laid the pistol on the table. “He’s a tough old bird.”

  “He is, indeed,” said D’argent. “So what has become of Stephano? He hasn’t gone after his mother yet, has he? I told him I would bring him the money—”

  “Stephano has been arrested,” said Miri.

  “Arrested!” D’argent repeated, clearly stunned. “Stephano? Who arrested him? On what charge?”

  “The monks of Saint Klee, sir,” said Dag. “They arrested him and Rodrigo. The charge is heresy. They’ve taken them to the Arcanum.”

  “Heresy! Oh, my God.” D’argent’s tone was exceedingly grave. “This is bad. Very bad indeed. I met with them only a few hours ago. When did this happen?”

  “The monks were waiting for him and Rigo here in the house, sir. They’d been holding Benoit prisoner for days. He tried to warn Stephano that it was a trap, but by that time, it was too late.”

  D’argent placed the satchel on the floor. “You better tell me the whole story.”

  Dag pulled out a chair, intending to offer it to D’argent, only to find it already occupied by Doctor Ellington. Smelling food, the cat had decided to once more favor them with his presence. Dag removed the cat, brushed cat fur off the chair, then offered it to D’argent.

  Miri left to reassure Gythe and Benoit, who would have heard the commotion at the door. She returned to report that Benoit was sleeping. His breathing had improved and his pulse was stronger.

  “I am relieved to hear this, at least,” said D’argent. “Tell me what happened.”

  Dag repeated what Benoit had told him.

  “Stephano guessed something was wrong. He told us to wait in the alleyway with the cart, while he and Rodrigo went inside. The last we saw, sir, the monks were taking them away in a wyvern-drawn yacht. The crest of the Arcanum was on the doors.”

  D’argent shook his head, baffled. “I still do not understand why he was charged with heresy!”

  “According to Benoit, the monks claimed that Stephano and Rigo conspired with a priest, Father Jacob Northrop, and a Knight Protector named Sir Ander Martel to commit heresy.”

  “I know Sir Ander,” added D’argent, now deeply troubled. “I know the reputation of Father Jacob. Both of them are good men, men of faith. I don’t understand any of this.”

  “There was another charge involving Rodrigo, sir,” said Miri. “They said he was conspiring with the enemy, Sir Henry Wallace.”

  “That charge is trumped up. He was Wallace’s hostage,” Dag added.

  “But there is something else, sir. The monks don’t know yet, but they might find out…” Miri looked at Dag. He gave a reluctant nod.

  “You better see this, sir.”

  Miri went into the larder and returned with the book. She wiped the flour off the cover with a damp rag and handed it to D’argent. He opened the book to the first page.

  Thoughts on Contramagic.

  D’argent paled. “God have mercy!”

  He flipped through some of the pages, pausing occasionally to read Rodrigo’s notations and entries. “This is … this is amazing.”

  He looked up at Miri. “Monsieur Rodrigo writes that he devised a way to form a bridge over the ruinous contramagic spells on your boat. Is that true? Did his magic work?”

  “It did, sir,” said Miri. “We could not have sailed off the island otherwise. Not only that, but when we were attacked by Bottom Dwellers at the refinery where we found the crystals, the Tears of God, that you came to pick up at the dock, Rigo protected the pinnace with a magical construct that deflected the contramagic or some such thing. I don’t come close to understanding.”

  “Thank God in heaven the monks did not find this!” D’argent said earnestly. He closed the book gently. “This would seal his fate.”

  “Dag is right. We should burn it,” said Miri reluctantly.

  She picked up the volume.

  “No! Wait!” D’argent cried urgently. “I’ve just had a thought. Give the book to me. This book might be what we need to set Rodrigo and Stephano free!”

  Miri frowned and kept hold of the book. “What are you going to do with it, sir?”

  “I don’t plan to take it to the grand bishop, if that’s what you fear,” said D’argent, smiling. “I plan to take it to the king.”

  “I don’t see how that helps, sir,” said Dag. “We both know King Alaric hates Stephano.”

  “I wish I could tell you,” said D’argent. “I am sworn to secrecy.”

  “You need to tell us, sir,” said Miri, respectful, but firm. “Or the book goes into the fire.”

  D’argent hesitated. “You must tell no one.”

  “You can trust us, sir,” said Dag with quiet dignity.

  “The lift tanks that keep the palace floating in the air were sabotaged by contramagic. It is eating away at the magical constructs that charge the lift gas. The crafter engineers are doing what they can to stave off disaster, but they know nothing about contramagic. Unless a way is found to stop the contramagic, the palace will crash to the ground. The loss of life, the devastation this would cause is incalculable. Such a disaster could plunge the country into chaos.”

  “You have the crystals we found in Braffa, sir. You could put them in the lift tanks,” Dag suggested.

  “I had the same idea when Stephano first told me about them,” said D’argent. “I took them to the palace. The engineers thought they would work. But when they put the crystals in the lift tanks, nothing happened. They said it was because the crystals rely on the same magical charge as the lift gas.”

  “You are right, sir. Rodrigo could help!” Miri said excitedly. “He knows how to build a construct that will bridge the contramagic. That is what he did on the Cloud Hopper.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” said D’argent. “I will need to show the book to the king as proof.”

  Miri and Dag held a silent consultation, then Dag nodded and Miri handed the book to D’argent, who opened the satchel and placed the book inside.

  “My only concern is that the king will free Rodrigo and not Stephano. I don’t suppose Stephano was studying contramagic?” D’argent asked, half jesting and half in earnest.

  “No, but I can give His Majesty a reason to free Stephano,” said Dag. “He has an idea on how to carry the battle to these Bottom Dwellers, sir. An idea on how to sail down below the Breath.”

  “Which means Stephano ascribes to Father Jacob’s theory that these people are survivors of the sinking of the island of Glasearrach,” D’argent said. “Father Jacob explained this notion to the countess. She found it credible, but, let us be honest, it is just a theory. We have no proof.”

  “We have proof, sir,” said Dag. “Our Gythe has talked to them.”

  “She talked to the Bottom Dwellers?” D’argent was amazed. “How did she do that?”

  “My sister and I are Trundlers, sir,” said Miri, “and she is a savant. I don’t pretend to know how, but she hears their voices. They frighten her. They told her they live at the bottom of the world and that those of us who live in the world Above are to blame for their suffering.”

  “I fear I can hardly tell His Majesty that your Gythe hears voices,” said D’argent drily. “I will tell him about Stephano’s plan, however. I have an idea he might be interested in it. Can you describe his thinking to me?”

  Dag did so in a few words. D’argent listened closely, asking for clarification on a few points. “I remember hearing of this battle, the Siege of the Royal Sail, for it was the last battle fought by
the Dragon Brigade before it was disbanded. Where is this fortress?”

  Dag gave the location. “Our crafter saw to it that the fortress survived the fall relatively intact. Good thing for me. I was inside the walls when it hit the ground.”

  D’argent started to close the satchel. He paused, then took out a purse that he handed to Miri.

  “What is this for?” she asked suspiciously.

  “You and the sergeant and your sister should go somewhere far from here. Evreux is not safe for you. The grand bishop has not had you arrested yet, but the very fact that you are in this house puts you in danger.”

  Dag and Miri exchanged glances.

  “Thank you for your concern, sir, but we won’t leave Benoit—”

  “I will send the countess’s personal physician to tend to him,” said D’argent.

  “And we won’t leave without first knowing what’s going to happen to our friends. Besides,” Miri added with some asperity, “we can’t go to our boat. The countess had it impounded.”

  “She rescinded the order,” said D’argent with a faint smile. “You will find the Cloud Hopper where you customarily dock. If you won’t leave the city, at least leave this house, go to the boat. I will meet you there.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” said Dag, looking at Miri. “Especially since Gythe has been so upset. She might feel better away from here.”

  Miri nodded. “We’ll wait for the physician and then we’ll go.”

  “I hope to meet with His Majesty immediately, perhaps even tonight,” said D’argent. “I will bring news as soon as I can.”

  Miri accompanied D’argent to the door.

  “What about Father Jacob, sir?” she asked. “Can the king do anything to help him and Sir Ander?”

  “His Majesty has no authority to intervene in Church matters. The grand bishop exerts control over them,” said D’argent, shaking his head gravely. “Father Jacob has been walking a dangerous path for some time now.”

  Miri sighed and went to fetch D’argent’s cloak and hat.

  “I will give the physician a letter,” D’argent told them. “Ask to see it before you allow him inside. Don’t open the door to anyone else.”

  Miri accompanied D’argent to the carriage. Evening had fallen and the lamplighter was making his rounds. The driver opened the door and D’argent entered. Then the driver mounted his box, plied the whip and worked the magic that caused the carriage to rise. On his command, the wyverns clawed their way into the air. Miri watched the lights of the carriage disappear swiftly among the low-hanging clouds. She looked again up and down the sidewalk, dark now except for the pools of light shining from the streetlamps.

  She reported back to Dag. “I didn’t see anyone.”

  “You wouldn’t,” said Dag grimly. “You don’t see the monks of Saint Klee unless they want you to see them. I think D’argent is right. We should leave. We’re not safe.”

  He shut the door and locked it. They returned to the kitchen. Miri started to pack up her herb jars back into the trunk. Dag stopped her.

  “We can’t take anything with us. We’ll have to go on foot, make sure we’re not being followed.”

  “You’re right, of course,” said Miri. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  She bleakly looked around at the clothes she’d meant to wash, some hanging over the backs of chairs, others in a pile on the floor. The books were scattered over the table, along with mugs and plates, silverware and cutlery.

  “You go stay with Benoit,” said Miri. “Send Gythe to me. At least I’ll leave this place clean for Stephano and Rigo. When … when they come home.”

  Her voice caught in her throat and her lips quivered. She picked up one of Rodrigo’s shirts and stood smoothing the fabric. Dag said nothing, but she felt his hand rest on her shoulder. His touch lasted only a moment; relations between them were still strained and probably always would be.

  “They’ll come home, Miri,” said Dag.

  She felt comforted. She drew in a breath and managed a smile. “I know they will.”

  Dag went to fetch Gythe. Miri hung the kettle over the fire and while she was waiting for the water to boil she began to fold shirts. Gythe came to help her and reported that Benoit was still asleep. His breathing was now normal and some color had returned to his cheeks.

  The physician arrived just as Miri finished washing the dishes. He presented the letter from D’argent, and Miri escorted him to Benoit’s room. The physician examined Benoit, listened to his heart. Miri described the potion she had given him.

  “You administered the proper treatment,” said the physician. “I do not think the heart has been damaged. The patient experienced palpitations due to the shock. With rest and continued care he should soon be able to return to his duties. I propose that we take him to the hospital and keep him there for a few days. The nuns will care for him.”

  Miri was disposed to think highly of the physician, especially since he had approved her treatment. She was reluctant to abandon Benoit, even though she knew nothing would please the old man more than lying in a hospital bed all day, ordering the poor nuns about.

  “I don’t like to think of leaving him to the care of strangers,” she said to Gythe. “I believe we should stay.”

  Gythe took hold of Miri’s hand, squeezed it tightly and began to gesture.

  “We have to go to the boat, sister!” Gythe said. “I am afraid to stay here. The monks will come for us! We should leave now. Please, Miri, I want to go home!”

  Miri stared at Gythe worriedly, taken aback by her sister’s outburst. Gythe was truly frightened. Miri could feel her sister trembling.

  “All right, Gythe. We’ll go back to the Hopper. Hush, child, don’t fret.”

  Gythe nodded and suddenly flung her arms around Miri and hugged her tightly. Then she turned away and began to adjust the coverlet, drawing it snugly over Benoit’s shoulders to prepare him for his trip to the hospital.

  When the horse-drawn carriage arrived, Dag lifted the old man and placed him inside. Miri tucked blankets around him. Benoit slept through the entire procedure. The physician settled in by Benoit’s side and Miri kissed the old man on the forehead. She watched as the carriage rolled down the street, moving slowly so as not to jar the patient.

  Miri folded the clothes and put them back into the trunks as Dag packed away Rodrigo’s books, then Gythe laid a protective magical construct over the trunks. Miri carried the clean dishes to the pantry, where she found Doctor Ellington with telltale traces of gravy from the remains of the meat pie on his whiskers. Miri handed the cat to Dag. Taking the lamp, she made a final tour of the house to see that all was right.

  Dag and Gythe and the Doctor waited for her outside the back door. Miri stood in the shadowy kitchen.

  “We were going to come home and everything was going to be right. And now everything’s gone horribly wrong,” Miri said softly.

  She blew out the lamp, set it on the kitchen table, and joined the others. Turning the key in the lock, she handed the key to Dag, who hid it behind a loosened brick in the wall. Wrapped in dark cloaks, the three slipped out of the garden and into the alley.

  The clouds had rolled away over the distant mountains. The stars gleamed, and the full moon was so bright they could see their own shadows.

  The three walked in silence, none of them in the mood for talking. Miri and Gythe moved quietly, their leather slippers making almost no noise. The sound of Dag’s heavy boots crunching on the gravel seemed to reverberate through the night. Seeing Miri wince, Dag grimaced and shrugged. There wasn’t much he could do.

  Miri was worried about Gythe. She walked with her arms folded beneath her cloak, her head down, paying no attention to where she was going. She would have fallen into a trench filled with water if Miri hadn’t caught her and dragged her around it. Gythe cast her sister a grateful glance and smiled. Something about Gythe’s smile made Miri uneasy.

  She took hold of her sister’s hand. “Tell me what i
s wrong, Gythe. You can tell me anything. You know that.”

  Gythe’s eyes were shadowed with sorrow. She slid her hand out of her sister’s grasp and hurried on ahead.

  Miri’s heart ached. Gythe had never before kept secrets from her. She had changed so much, Miri hardly knew her. She was no longer the hurt and fearful child. She was a “woman grown” as Dag had once said, making her own decisions, leading her own life.

  She wondered if Gythe still fancied herself to be in love with Brother Barnaby. Such a love was hopeless, as Miri had often tried to point out. The monk was deeply committed to God. Miri shook her head. Hopefully Gythe would soon come to her senses, forget this nonsense about being in love.

  The alley brought them to Haymarket Street, which would lead them by a meandering route to the harbor where the Cloud Hopper was docked. As they were leaving the alley, Miri cast a brief glance over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of movement, a shadow seen and then gone.

  “Dag! Someone’s following us!” Miri whispered.

  “Hush! I saw them,” Dag said quietly. He took hold of her arm and propelled her forward. “Keep moving.”

  3

  I cannot ignore their silent pleas.

  —Gythe McPike

  Miri left their route to Dag, who always laughingly boasted that he kept a map of Evreux in his head. He knew every street, every side street, every byway and alleyway and how they all connected. He led them to the harbor by a circuitous way that he hoped would throw off their pursuers, all the while behaving innocently, as though he had no idea they were being pursued.

  Miri was familiar with the major thoroughfares, the area around Stephano’s house and around the docks, but that was the extent of her knowledge. She was soon lost amid the tall buildings, the tangle of alleys, mewses, parks and courtyards. She could tell by the moon and stars that although they often veered off in one direction or another, they kept moving south, toward the harbor.

  “I think we lost them,” Dag said finally.

  They had stopped about a block from the Cloud Hopper. They stood in the shadows of a warehouse, taking the precaution of observing the boat before they approached.