A chopping block? He had expected a dungeon. Headless would be one way to keep him quiet. Then he was in a warm place that smelled of rosewood.
Light blinded him as the bag was pulled off, then the blur of the room slowly resolved itself. He was standing in an office, one that made Magistrate Lang’s look tawdry by comparison. Light flooded in from a latticed window that overlooked the sea. In the far distance, he could see mountaintops. Standing around him were Chairman Gleame, Albertus and Prosecutor Corbin.
“Is this the wretch who invaded the Masters’ Quarters?” Albertus asked.
“I’m certain of it,” Corbin replied with smiling eyes, though his face was as expressive as an anvil.
“What do you have to say for yourself, boy?” Albertus asked. Daniel feigned sullen defiance. The chairman would not look at him.
“What were you doing in Bolb’s room?” Albertus demanded.
Daniel wondered how much he knew. He looked at Gleame and then at Corbin for a clue. Gleame was trying to pretend he didn’t recognise him, and the effort of it seemed to be making him ill. Corbin revealed nothing.
“I’ve no idea what you are talking about.”
“Master Bolb called for guards last night. Commanded that the Masters’ Quarters be sealed.”
“Why would he do a thing like that?” Corbin piped in cheerfully.
“His room was ruined,” Albertus said.
“What’s that got to do with me?” Daniel asked. Albert kicked him hard in the ribs, connected with the broken one. Daniel wailed and dropped to his side in agony. Corbin pursed his lips in a parody of concern.
Albert stared at Daniel menacingly. “We know you weren’t in your room last night. Speak up, boy, or I’ll have my friend here find the truth for me, and he is cold.” He pointed over his shoulder at Corbin.
“I will tell you nothing,” Daniel said in an accent he hoped sounded vaguely foreign. Corbin snorted in amusement. Gleame looked embarrassed and confused. Albertus spun around furiously.
“I see nothing amusing about this matter,” Albertus said.
“Quite right,” Corbin said. “Take him to the desk.”
Albertus punched Daniel in the rib again, and Daniel screamed. Half dazed, he was lifted up onto the desk. Albertus lay across his back, pinning him down. The weight of the man alone was agony.
Face pressed against the walnut, Daniel saw Corbin approach. The prosecutor forced Daniel’s left hand flat against Gleame’s desk, dug a finger into the pressure point on the back of his hand, causing his fingers to splay. He drew his serrated hunting knife from his belt.
“Must we?” Gleame pleaded, his voice reedy.
“Who knows how much time we have,” Corbin said. “Look at me, boy.”
Daniel turned his head and spat at the prosecutor, searched for a sign in his eyes that what was happening was not real.
“I’ve seen you poking around, boy, searching and listening. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
“Never,” Daniel said.
“Your loyalty is about to be tested.”
From the desk, Corbin took a rosewood box that Daniel recognised as Miranda’s, and he wondered if she had betrayed him as Corbin grasped Daniel’s left hand tighter and forced Daniel’s little finger across the top of it.
“Albertus,” he said, and handed the big man his knife, “the tip.”
You fucking maniac, Daniel thought, his mind whirling towards panic.
“Gladly,” Albertus said and sliced it off.
For a second there was no pain and then Daniel howled.
“Cunts,” he screamed, accent slipping, and then whined through his teeth like a wounded puppy.
“One last chance,” Corbin said. “I know who you’re working for – and you know that I know. Now tell these fine gentlemen who you really are, and I’ll let you keep the rest of that finger. Go on – I give you permission.”
Daniel stared at him disbelievingly. What was his intent? Was it some kind of crazy test? “Never,” he hissed spitefully between gritted teeth. Corbin nodded to Albertus. Daniel couldn’t watch. The bone of what was left of his little finger cracked loudly as the knife cut through.
Daniel wasn’t sure if he screamed that time.
Albertus pressed Daniel’s head into the tabletop with a broad hand, and placed the top half of Daniel’s severed finger in front of his nose.
“I will never talk,” Daniel whispered, his accent now pure Bromwich.
Corbin roared with laughter and patted Daniel on the back. “Not bad,” he said. “Not bad at all.”
“I apologise,” Corbin said to the others, drying his eyes. “My young assistant plays a passable nobleman, but his range is limited.”
Albertus looked at him nonplussed. Gleame had turned a little green.
“Your assistant? You told me he was a foreign agent, you lunatic!” Albertus roared, his cheeks purple with rage, veins bulging on the side of his head.
“This young brave isn’t a spy or a thief. He’s an aspirant, working for me.”
You bastard, Daniel thought, through the agony of his hand, and glared at Corbin. The decision to end his secrecy was Lang’s to make, not the prosecutor’s.
Albertus furious was a terrifying sight, like a malign haystack come to life. His eyes demanded an explanation that would make sense of it all. “Who allowed this? Why wasn’t I informed? Why doesn’t the Convocation know?”
“The sensitivities of the Convocation are not my concern,” Corbin snapped. “One of my brothers was killed here, and I am beginning to understand why.”
“The Convergence does not operate under the Brotherhood’s sufferance,” Albertus shouted.
“This is not helping,” Gleame said. Corbin and Albertus drew apart like scolded dogs. Gleame pulled aside a handkerchief to reveal the metal hand on his desk. “Edmund, can you explain what this is?”
Daniel recalled seeing something very much like it on the workbench in Miranda’s laboratory. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“What happened in the Masters’ Quarters?” Albertus demanded.
“That is not a conversation for all ears,” Daniel said.
Gleame cleared his throat. “Albertus is in charge of the Verge’s security. He has been kept in the dark for too long already – and only because it was absolutely necessary. Please continue.”
Daniel crossed his arms. Corbin’s smile faded fast.
“It is allowed,” Corbin said.
“No, it isn’t,” Daniel said.
“I’m giving you an order!”
“You do not have the authority.” For a moment, Corbin looked like the Devourer himself and Daniel believed himself a dead man. Then the prosecutor sighed and calmed himself.
“Chairman, I trust you have a hekamaphone somewhere in this office. May I suggest we make use of it?” Gleame nodded.
“This is impossible,” Albertus said with a scowl.
***
The four men crowded around the crackling device, Daniel with his left hand wrapped in one of Gleame’s fine silk handkerchiefs. It throbbed maliciously. Daniel wondered if Gleame had a bottle of Carthusian hidden somewhere.
“You say the ward Miranda found the device, and that Bolb constructed it, without permission,” Lang’s voice hissed out.
“Yes,” Gleame said.
“Has anyone discovered what the device does?”
“It contains an enormous amount of power, according to the girl. She has a talent for these matters, is most perceptive.”
“Then my worst suspicions have been confirmed,” Lang said.
“What suspicions?” Albertus’s angry face twisted in the brass of the hekamaphone’s horn.
“A few weeks ago a foreign spy was intercepted by my men in a coaching inn north of Bromwich. He was killed in the strugg
le, but a substantial amount of coin and jewellery was discovered about his person. Moreover he carried a dagger whose hilt concealed forbidden writings.”
“What writings?” Corbin asked.
“Scriptures of Abjemo. I believe he was an agent of the Evangelicy on his way to the Convergence. That he was sent there to exchange the riches for something.”
“That is an outrageous claim,” Albertus said.
“Yes it is,” Lang sighed. “Daniel, tell us what happened last night.”
“Daniel?” the three men said in unison.
“Daniel Miller,” he confirmed.
“It would be better if this was kept within the Brotherhood,” Corbin said.
“Things have gone too far,” Lang said, “and we are not the enemy of the Honourable Company of Cunning. Please proceed.”
If Corbin could have throttled the hekamaphone, Daniel reckoned he would have done so. Daniel told them all of his adventure in Bolb’s room and said nothing of Miranda.
Albertus became more and more outraged as he elaborated. “You sneaked into the Masters’ Quarters without permission, in disguise, burgled a master’s room, almost destroyed it… and your only achievement was the discovery of a diary which conveniently no longer exists?”
“Was there anything of use in the diary?” Lang asked.
“It was mostly miserable. I saw Adelmus’s name, and Corbin’s. Some talk of a hand. I thought he meant his own, but he must have meant the one you’ve shown me.”
“No other names?”
“No.”
“You’ve got nothing,” Albertus said, “that’s the truth of it. This is a disaster. When the other masters find out about this – censors spying in the Convergence, breaking into their quarters. This will cost me my job.” He turned to Gleame. “I can’t believe you sanctioned this.”
Gleame said nothing.
Albertus began to pace the room. “How did you escape, Miller? I sealed the Masters’ Quarters and we searched everywhere.”
The room went silent.
“I cannot say until I’ve discussed the matter with Magistrate Lang.”
Before Corbin could react, Lang said, “The Brotherhood does not reveal its methods. We have the hand, and for now, that is enough. I understand the sensitivities. What has been done was necessary for the defence of the Unity. Did anyone see Mr Miller taken prisoner?”
“No,” Corbin said. “I made sure of that.”
“He cannot continue spying,” Albertus said. “I will not allow it.”
“There is no need, I have a plan. But we must act as quickly as we can.”
As they regathered around the hekamaphone, Daniel waved his bleeding hand reproachfully at Corbin.
“You were supposed to shoot yourself,” Corbin whispered. “You got off lightly.”
A nest of vipers
Trails of cloud scudded overhead like ghost fingers reaching for the horizon. They looked close enough to touch. The cawing of the seagulls that circled below sounded worryingly distant. Far away, Miranda could see the rounded peaks of Ellan Vannin. The island hunched in the frigid ocean like a leviathan in slumber.
Miranda gripped the edges of her chair and reminded herself that the parapet was a good ten feet away and that the Convergence had stood for many years and not once collapsed. Vertigo is a bit like love, she thought, fighting the fluttering in her chest. If I ever needed to describe the sensation to a person with no feeling for the seductive power of edges, or the pull of great heights, the peak of the Convergence would be the place.
The freeze-dried air made her cheeks prickle but she was warm, wrapped deep in the coat of an ice bear, a fur so white it seemed to glow. Its long hairs tickled her nose. As Miranda waited, a solitary waiter, his face a riverbed of wrinkles, ceaselessly rolled a silver drinks trolley between the empty tables around her.
Miranda’s hand moved carelessly to her sternum, where the slip of paper was tucked into the top of her corset. On it was transcribed a single line of the codex produced by Bolb’s mechanical hand. It lay hot against her skin, like a love letter from a wicked and dangerous man.
Master Somney appeared from the pavilion door and grimaced at the bitter wind. She waved to him as gaily as if he were freshly arrived at a summer picnic. He took a black fur wrap from the waiter, ordered a drink, and strode towards her, businesslike, the sharp tap of his staff accompanying his every other step.
“Hot rum. I recommend it.” He set his copper mug down on the small, mosaicked table, sat at an angle to Miranda, facing out to sea, and wrapped himself tightly. Miranda watched the clouds passing inverted on the silvered crown of his head.
“Mother’s favourite.”
He shot her a sideways glance with his bloodshot eyes. “I was introduced to the duchess a few years back, at Dowdeswell. I was taking the waters.”
“No doubt she was there for the horses.” Miranda finished the story for him and smiled knowingly. It was a little crass of Somney to try to impress her with his status. It was not such a great thing, to have met her mother. She made a point of meeting people.
“We discussed matters of trade and a point of theology. She is a formidable woman, with strong convictions and a sharp mind. You remind me of her, in some ways.”
Miranda stirred the pink tea that chimneyed steam from her delicate glass, tested the heat of it with puckered lips, and sipped noisily. “Some people say she’s obstinate.”
“Men mostly, I presume. Men who have failed to persuade her to do what they want. Why have you brought me up here, Miranda? It’s freezing. I’ve already pledged you my support, if the opportunity for promotion to master ever arises.”
“You were one of the first to do so.”
Somney nestled back into the warm comfort of his fur and clasped his steaming drink in his bare hands. “You should be careful what you wish for, Miranda, this place is not what it once was. In the dark times, when we were hunted by censors, the Cunning learned to help one another to survive, to learn. We shared our knowledge, revelled in each other’s achievements. We had to. Now all I see is ambition and petty rivalries. Men drunk on gold and pride. The Convergence has become a nest of vipers.”
Poor Somney, Miranda thought, maybe he’s getting old. Tiring of the game.
“I am indebted to you,” she said. “I came to the Convergence upon your allowance and I will never forget that – no matter how far I rise.” She gave an ambassadorial smile which he acknowledged with a grunt.
“I am pleased that you remember it that way. A memory for favours is a rarity in any place. So why have you summoned me? Do you wish to discuss tactics?” Somney took a swig of his hot rum and leaned back in his chair, feeling more relaxed.
“I feel that I can trust you,” Miranda said. Somney flinched at that, checked over his shoulder. The waiter was trundling on the other side of the platform; she had made sure to wait for that.
“Trust me to do what? In what way?” Somney said nervously. Miranda leaned forward, slid the tiny scroll out from between her breasts and offered it to him. Miranda smiled as his eyes alighted briefly on her chest. He took the paper and unfurled it as if it might be poisoned, scanned it through narrow eyes.
“Where did you find this?”
“Inside a tome.” His owlish eyes grew hard and incredulous. “Chapman’s Chaotic Thesis… chapter five,” she added unconvincingly.
He stared at her directly and the pattern of his irises began to curl and spike like sea flowers. Miranda suddenly felt naked. She cursed herself. He was a master of the Verge, not to be taken lightly. She had no idea what powers he had. She summoned all of her effort to hold off his gaze. He saw her resistance and chose to relent. For a while, he did nothing but savour his drink and admire the blue sky.
“It’s not really my speciality, that sort of thing.”
“What isn’t?”
/>
“Structural notation. Advanced magimatics.” He returned the slip of paper. “I have a good nose for trouble, Miranda – I’ve seen my fair share. If I were you, I would lose this scrap.”
“Of course. But what does it say?”
He rocked back in his chair and looked to the clouds for a decision.
“It’s always the same problem with the Cunning – their insatiable and idiotic desire for knowledge.”
“Knowledge is power,” Miranda said.
“Don’t bandy clichés. Knowledge is like money, it only grants power to those who have more than they need. Most become its servant.” He set down his mug, rotated it a quarter turn, grabbed his staff with a look of resignation and stood. “Come with me.”
Miranda took his arm and they walked together towards the low wall on the landward side of the platform. Miranda faltered before they reached the edge, released his arm.
Somney stepped onto the parapet. Miranda gasped, felt her knees weaken. The precipice at Somney’s feet was unimaginable.
“Trust me, Miranda,” he said, and held out his hand. It was a test. Heart hammering, she scraped the soles of her shoes on the paving, and joined him.
It was impossible not to look down. From the great height, the giant boulders that lined the base of the island seemed as small as coals and the birds that circled above them nothing more than specks of dust. She screamed inwardly as her fear sought to betray the strength of her legs. She clutched at Somney’s elbow and focused on the wobbling horizon.
“You are brave, Miranda. Brave and determined, but it is easy to be brave when you do not understand the danger.”
Miranda’s stomach churned. He must be joking, she thought, and felt the void pulling her forward. She clutched at Somney’s arm and willed him to step back onto the platform.
“Look down,” he said. “Tell me, what frightens you most?”
The Censor's Hand: Book One of the Thrice~Crossed Swords Trilogy Page 31
