“I would like to reflect on your wisdom and to discuss the matter with you further, once I have examined my conscience.”
A deranged rattling filled the air as a monumentally wide man waddled into the temple. His robes glittered like fish scales and rattled like a chorus of bells or tambourines. Obviously a master. The godsworn directed the obese man towards a pew and turned distractedly back to Daniel. Both winced as the master sat down with a crash of cymbals. He pointed a chubby finger at Daniel.
“Leave us,” the master said. “I have a private matter to discuss with this fellow.”
“Of course,” Daniel said. As he reached the temple’s exit, he used a trick that Hernandez had taught him, threw the door open and ducked behind a pillar. As the slamming drew the godsworn’s eye, he dropped to his belly and crawled under a pew.
The godsworn’s feet approached. Daniel silenced his breathing and watched the man stroll straight past and bolt the doors to the temple.
There was a monstrous rattling as the master stood.
“Bolb.”
“I’ve come to make another offering.”
The godsworn sighed. “It’s the third time this week. You cannot expect the gods to be so hasty in answering, especially one absent from prayer for so long.”
Bolb barked like a seal. It took Daniel a moment to realise that he was sobbing.
“I could help you better if you would share your burden, tell me what grieves you.”
Bolb shook his head as if he were a child refusing dinner.
“Fear, guilt and sorrow; these are the burdens of all men. We have all done things of which we are ashamed.” Bolb remained silent. “Then let us pray together, to the gods above and below.”
Bolb tossed a handful of jewels onto the altar and knelt beside the godsworn.
“Father. Mother. All-seeing. Dreamer. Devourer. Judge. Help this poor soul recover what has been lost to him.” Bolb flapped his arms above his head and around his body, praying for all he was worth.
Daniel watched the master’s pleading. It was pathetic, desperate. He had seen it before, in men praying before their execution. It stank of guilt.
After a while, they stood. The godsworn released the temple door. Bolb exited, his face cast down with sorrow. The sombre clashing of his robe was like a dirge. Daniel waited until the path was clear, and hurried out after him.
The master had disappeared into the busy atrium but Daniel could still hear the chiming of bells above the ruckus. He ran into the throng of vendors and craftsmen in pursuit. The crowd made him wary, but he suppressed his instincts and pushed on. The rattling grew closer; Daniel guessed no more than thirty paces ahead. He slowed down and established the correct distance for shadow-work. A gap opened in the crowd and he saw a goatherd guiding his flock with a crook. Daniel heard the bells jangle at the necks of his beasts and cursed in frustration.
At a florist’s stall, a plain maid was arranging lilies in a coppered flute.
“The master with the bells, the fat one, which way did he pass?”
She pointed towards the seaward side of the tower. “That way. You’d best hurry though; Bolb’s not a patient type.” Dan scoured the atrium, hunted with urgent determination, and though he was sure he could hear the master, just out of sight, he found no trace of him.
***
At the eighth hour of the night on the landward side, the Verge was inhabited only by wind and shadows.
The lock of the door clicked open. Daniel slipped his pick into his pocket and stepped into the solarium that exhibited the Verge’s innovations. The hall was built into the outer walls of the tower and enclosed in a bubble of diamond-shaped panels of glass. In the dark of night, its scant illumination came from the blinking lights of strange devices that balanced on mahogany display stands within cabinets and vitrines.
He found the hekamaphone at the far end of the hall. Its horn was silver rather than bronze and the small glass phials within it were empty and unlabelled, but otherwise it was identical to the one he had seen in Lang’s office. As he prepared the blood-water, Daniel wondered if it was possible to eavesdrop on a conversation between the devices.
He waited until the appointed hour and then tipped the drop into the open top of the glass. It seemed to fall in slow motion. The tiny ruby waves it sent racing to the side of the alembic slowed and then stopped dead, leaving perfect concentric circles vibrating in the water. The winds of oblivion began to snarl.
“Reporting,” Daniel said in a low voice.
“Are we certain of privacy?” Lang replied, calm and alert.
“Alone, but not certain of it.”
“Interesting. Make your report.”
“I have delivered the package.”
“How was it received?”
“Grudgingly.”
“What duties have you been assigned?”
“Observation of the demi-masters.”
“What else?”
“Nothing.”
In the pause that followed, Daniel heard nothing but ghost noises.
“Tell me what you can.”
“Corbin is concerned with the circumstances of the crime. He suspects that the deceased was somehow…” He struggled for the right word. “…involved?”
“What else?”
“I have discovered no signs of dissent or subterfuge amongst the demi-masters.”
“Of course not, they arrived after the murder.”
“A ward of the duchess is amongst them.”
“Ward Miranda.”
“She has enemies. I have gained her confidence.”
“That is unexpected. Keep a respectful eye on her.”
Daniel grinned. “Yes sir.”
“Is that all?” Lang said. Daniel counted to three, under his breath.
“I have begun to investigate, on my own initiative.”
“Without Corbin’s consent?” Lang’s displeasure was obvious.
Daniel’s throat tightened. “A reconnaissance of the temple. The godsworn who serves there seems no friend of the Convergence.”
“I did not ask you to investigate the godsworn.”
“A master has been visiting him recently. He’s made several visits since the murder, few or none before.”
“What is your intuition?”
“It seems odd, too much of a coincidence. Maybe the gods guided him to me.”
“The gods? Men’s affairs are no more than cobwebs in their eyes. It takes a brave one to place his trust in them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I ordered you to report on Corbin, not disobey him. What were you thinking?” Daniel had no answer. The hekamaphone crackled awhile.
“It’s bad enough having one untamed censor in the Convergence. Make one more mistake like that and your mission is over. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Now what is the name of this suspicious master?”
“Pendolous Bolb. I have learned that he’s highly regarded as an artificer. He once constructed an automaton that could play the complete works of Sinistaru on a harpsichord and cornet.”
“I know who he is; he built the mechanical owls that watch the border with Erdin. Not an obvious suspect, nor a man to be trifled with, but I will look over his file. Now tell me, what progress has Corbin made?”
“I have no idea. He hasn’t spoken to me once since the day of my arrival.”
“What? This whole situation is completely unacceptable. I will send a message to Corbin. He should learn to obey his superiors better.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will you be able to access this instrument again?”
“I believe so.”
“Next time you’d better have something useful to tell me.”
The hekamaphone shuddered and fell silent
.
The Hidden Maker
“You are about to witness the source of our power. I hope you are well prepared.”
Prepared for everything except the waiting, Miranda though, as Master Somney’s silver skullcap dipped out of view and the convoy of demi-masters shuffled to another ungainly halt. They had been descending for almost an hour now, through tunnels that led deep into the bowels of the island. The excitement of what was to come was greater than any Miranda could remember, but the journey of half steps was infuriating.
The party began to move again. To call it a convoy would be an exaggeration; only ten of the demi-masters who had crossed the causeway with her remained, mostly those who had achieved some success at the Drowner’s Finger. Including the one who set that trap in my room, the bastard Lavety.
There were a few others, too proud or stupid to leave of their own accord, including Edmund, irrepressibly tenacious Edmund. She felt a little sorry for him. He had tried hard, when they had finally allowed him to train at the Drowner’s Finger. The way he bit on his tongue while he concentrated was hilarious, but his efforts ranged from feeble to hopeless.
This is not the right time to be thinking about boys.
Miranda ran her hand along the wall beside her and closed her eyes. She felt the damp stone sliding under her gloved fingertips, recalled the construct she had spent a week fabricating. It floated serenely above in her mind’s eye, like a giant snowflake or spider’s web. She drifted around it, inspecting every angle with the anxious pride of a sculptor preparing a masterpiece for a public unveiling.
A triangular arch with the henge icon of the Convergence emblazoned on its keystone marked the end of the passage. The symbol was bold and abstract, a deliberate offence to tradition, nothing like the intricate heraldry of the nobles with its shields quadrant and beasts rampant.
The demi-masters emerged onto a paved ledge that jutted precipitously into the peak of a vast domed cavern. Spherical glow-stones on delicate silver pillars cast pools of light onto the jagged roof that curved only a few feet above. The strange illumination drained the colour from Miranda’s tawny skin, turning it an unhealthy ashen grey. She felt the rock throb underfoot.
Master Somney stood at the edge and puffed out his chest, motioned to the crowd to face him and began to speak too loudly, as if he were trying to make himself heard over a commotion.
“Today will be the first practical test of your cunning. Your first opportunity to demonstrate the extent of your talent.”
The more boisterous of the demi-masters whooped or cheered in agreement.
“That which lies below drives our profits and the prosperity of our land. It is my firm belief that those two fortunes, the Honourable Company’s and the Unity’s, are linked inextricably. I am old enough to remember the days when the Cunning operated alone and in secrecy. Back then the cliché of the magician in his fortified tower, or indeed the witch in her cabin, hidden in the woods, was true.” He looked at Miranda.
“A cottage industry,” Lavety quipped smugly.
“The old ways were restrictive and dangerous, the accumulation of magic a slow and tedious affair. We eked out small deposits with our cauldrons and grimoires, invested what we could in runes, enchantments and curses. Our own bodies were the conduits through which these transactions passed and the risks were terrible. If our cunning failed, magic would whiplash our souls as it turned wild and returned to its source. We ran the risk of becoming monsters, or worse! Disappearing. Spontaneously combusting.”
Somney seemed for a moment to lose himself in the memory of friends lost to those perils.
“What are the risks today?” a demi-master asked worriedly.
“Inconsequential, if procedure is followed correctly,” Somney said. “The Convergence is a new paradigm. The use of constructs removes our bodies and souls from the equation. We derive magic from a single shared resource. We have made its collection efficient. We can profit without taking personal risk. That is an unparalleled achievement in the history of man’s endeavours.”
The demi-masters nodded appreciatively. Miranda reserved judgement, and wondered where all the risk had gone.
“Before we progress I would like you to take a moment to appreciate the beauty of what we have created. Gaze into the abyss, but only for a moment, then continue onwards.” Somney pointed towards a stairwell leading down. “And be careful at the edge; the fall is not survivable.”
Miranda moved slowly, waited to peer down into the darkness.
Far below, at the base of the cavern, a circle of grey-blue standing stones topped with heavy lintels surrounded a dark lake. Huge lanthorns at the periphery of the cavern’s gloomy expanse directed beams of light onto the henge, which in turn cast long shadows across the water. The arrangement resembled a giant eye, its iris black beyond black.
Miranda stared at the eye, and it stared back at her. An obscure radiance, like the sun behind a cloud, forced her to squint. She felt the ledge trembling beneath her feet and steadied herself. A tumble over the precipice would deposit her directly into the centre of the lake and the idea of landing in that dark water was more terrifying than a certain death on the rocks to either side.
Her cheeks began to sting as if scorched by desert winds.
A train of yellow-robed figures, as small as ants, spiralled the lake, widdershins, like a clock running backwards. They seemed to be casting or placing within it objects whose nature was impossible to discern from so high above. Other men in extravagant costumes stood at the base of a few of the stones, at the water’s edge, waved their hands in mysterious patterns. Her teeth began to rattle and she tasted metal and acid in her mouth. She counted the stones. There were twenty-three of them.
I am watching the masters at work, she realised.
Her hair began to singe.
“Enough!” Somebody pulled Miranda away from the edge. It took her a moment to recognise Somney. He searched her eyes. “You were compelled. I did not expect that.”
“Compelled?” Miranda asked, startled by the slow realisation that she had momentarily lost control of her mind.
“Wild magic is devious. It can make a person lose track of time, one of the more subtle ways in which it evades capture. I’m sure you’ve read tales of sages who spent their lives obsessing over an apparently meaningless text. That’s a related phenomenon.” Somney checked her over as he spoke, as if looking for dangerous insects, stepped back seemingly satisfied with what he had not seen. “Your gums will bleed tonight, and your skin will darken and peel. Let your pain be your lesson. Now join the others.”
Miranda realised that she was alone on the platform, and hurried on her way.
She rejoined them in a room that looked like a mortuary, buried deep within the cavern’s walls and lined with deep shelves. A technician wearing a yellow gown, like the ones she had seen around the lake, stood on a box at the far end of the room, addressing the crowd.
“…stop the magic messing with your soul. The size can be adjusted at the back.”
Where is Edmund? Miranda found him pulling one of the lurid robes over his head.
“What did I miss?”
“You look like you’ve been chewing on bees. What happened?” She touched her lips. They were swollen. “The pout suits you. We’re to put these on, and goggles, then line up by the door.” He waved at the yellow robe laid out on the shelf before her.
It was identical to the one Edmund wore. Hooded and broad sleeved. As tailored as a sleeping bag. Utterly hideous. The scarf sewn into its collar was an intricate interlacing of alchemical symbols. To protect the face, she guessed. Wearing it, she would be indistinguishable from any of the other demi-masters.
She loosened her bodice for comfort. Dorian, the red-headed demi-master from Caistor, whistled at her wolfishly.
“Never seen a woman before?” Edmund shouted back. Miranda frowned; his
chivalry was unnecessary and unhelpful. Dorian was a joke. How the foul-mouthed idiot of a demi-master had managed to structure a competent sphere in the Drowner’s garden she could not imagine, but he wouldn’t be leaving the Convergence any time soon.
She ignored them both and slipped the stiff garment over her ordinary clothes. The goggles were brass with amethyst lenses and a buckled leather strap. She tightened them to a fit impenetrably dark, then let them drop around her neck and joined the expectant queue of demi-masters at the armoured door.
“Clear,” Somney shouted.
“Clear,” the technician confirmed. He covered his face with his scarf and spun the door’s hand-wheel.
The demi-masters emerged through another tunnel onto the floor of the cavern. The henge at its centre seemed distant from where Miranda stood, obscured as it was by wooden cranes, lanthorn stands and crowds of technicians who directed, monitored and recorded. Waggon-loads of ritual items emerged on a railed trackway to be collected by an endlessly circling troop of yellow uniforms. The men and machines operated quietly and efficiently, a perfectly coordinated whole.
“Welcome to the floor.” Somney was almost shouting now. “The efficient division of labour means that the Convergence can accumulate more magic in one day than the druids and witches of our history did in their collective lifetimes.”
Like a child pretending to be an owl, Somney made circles with his fingers and placed them over his eyes. “Please… behold, our Hidden Maker!”
Miranda pulled on her goggles.
There was an explosion in the centre of the cavern. The air around Miranda seemed to solidify and then splinter into shards at the speed of breaking glass. She flung her arms before her face and braced for the impact.
None came.
An impossibly loud roaring filled her ears and mind, yet she felt herself unharmed. It seemed impossible that she could have survived the rending. She slowly withdrew her face from the crook of her elbow, daring to hope that her colleagues had not suffered. It took a moment for her mind to adjust to the violence of what she saw.
The Censor's Hand: Book One of the Thrice~Crossed Swords Trilogy Page 18
