by Will Wight
“One second, sir,” Andel said. “As soon as we set foot on the island, we’ll be in their hands. What do we have to deal with an army of Consultants?”
Calder stopped, spinning to grin at his Quartermaster. “Nothing! If they decide to kill us, they’ll kill us. There comes a time when you must play the odds, Mister Petronus.”
Andel cleared his throat and stared pointedly at the door to Calder’s cabin. “If only we had some sort of device that would protect us from hundreds of Guild members. Hundreds of loyal Imperial citizens that are sworn to protect and obey.”
Calder realized what the Quartermaster was getting at, and his smile slipped. He had intended to save that for a distant, ideal future. He had begun to think, recently, that he would never open the lockbox again.
He steeled himself. As the Izyrian strategist Yenzir once said, “The winner is the one who first recognizes that the time for a battle has come.”
“If this doesn’t work,” Calder said, “you do realize that we’re even more likely to be killed.”
“But if it does work, then this could be the endgame.” Andel gestured to the cabin. “Go get it, Captain. Then let’s hire a Consultant.”
Calder pushed his way into the cabin, opening the drawer beside his bunk. He withdrew a small silver key, invested with his Intent. If anyone other than him picked up the key, they would feel a crippling pain in their hand.
He grabbed the key, reached under his bunk, and pulled out the lockbox. He kept it chained to the bottom of the bunk so it didn’t slide around, but he had enough slack to insert the key.
If Jerri was still alive, she had better appreciate this.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I hear that you have Awakened your mother’s stand-mirror.
Upon hearing of its effects, I urged her to have the device melted down, and to hire a Luminian Pilgrim to cleanse its remnants.
Let me emphasize once again the dangers of Awakening, as clearly my previous correspondence was not effective.
Hypothetically, let us say that you tried to Awaken a mirror that once—unbeknownst to you—hung in the dungeon of a notorious murderer. Every day, his victims looked into the mirror and wished to be saved. Would it not be likely that the mirror would save a measure of their desperate Intent? And, when Awakened, that very mirror might even cry out for salvation. Why, it might do anything to be free, including distorting the minds and senses of those nearby.
Of course, we are speaking in the hypothetical sense.
-Artur Belfry, Imperial Witness
Taken from a letter to his pupil, two months after the previous message was delivered.
Eleven years ago
“It’s supposed to be a ship for the Navigators,” Calder explained. “We’re going to summon some sort of Elder creature from the Aion, and it will guide the crew across the sea. With an Elder chained to the ship, the other Elderspawn won’t bother them, and they’ll be able to make the voyage in half the time. That’s the idea, anyway.”
Jyrine chewed on the end of her pen. “But will it sail?”
“It doesn’t matter if it will sail. We won’t be onboard! We can’t crew a ship with two people.”
“Three, once we have your father.”
“Oh, I forgot! Three is precisely the number we need. I’ll pilot, you navigate, and my father can man the rest of the ship.”
Jerri threw the pen at him. It bounced off his head, and hurt far more than he felt was fair. Calder yelped, and something moved around them.
They froze. Jerri threw her scarf over the tiny quicklamp on the center of the table.
They were holed up in the Grayweather house library, under cover of night. Jyrine had returned to her family hours before, but snuck her way back to plan what she called their ‘clandestine operation.’
She and Calder sat on opposite ends of a small table, papers stacked in neat piles on its surface. Shadows smothered the rest of the room, leaving them in a pool of yellow light...at least, when their quicklamp was shining. Smothered by Jerri’s scarf, the illumination cast them in dull orange weaker than a candle-flame.
They froze just long enough to make sure that no one had cracked the door to the library, and then Jyrine pulled the scarf back and they both sat down.
Calder continued as if nothing had happened. “I’m sorry, but it really wouldn’t work. They’ve prepared most of the ship, because it’s supposed to go on display next week, but there aren’t even any sails.”
He had been sure they would add sails by now. He was no shipwright, but surely if the rest of the ship’s frame was ready to display they could tack up some sails.
“Maybe it doesn’t need sails!” Jerry said, undeterred. “If this Elderspawn is supposed to pull The Testament, then why would it require sails?”
Calder had been the one to invest the mast so that it properly flexed against the tug of a full sail. But there was an even better reason why Jerri’s plan wouldn’t work.
“They haven’t summoned it yet,” he said. “There’s been an issue with the tidal forces, or something.” He’d heard the other Watchmen discussing it just that morning, in worried tones. The specific creature they sought hadn’t wandered close enough to shore by now, which probably meant it had fallen under the purview of a Great Elder. And no one wanted to risk incurring the wrath of a Great Elder, even one that had remained dead for over a thousand years. So far.
He shook his head, clearing it. Why were they even talking about the ship? “Anyway, that’s enough about the ship. The ship won’t work. There is no ship.”
Jerri worked her jaws as though chewing on something, but she ultimately calmed herself by rubbing a thumb over the tattoos on the back of her left hand. “That leaves my other plan, then.”
She reached into the stack of papers and pulled one out, seemingly at random.
Across the top of the page, in block letters, she’d printed the name of this plan:
OPERATION “JYRINE DOES CALDER’S JOB FOR HIM”
--Jyrine disguises herself in Calder’s Blackwatch uniform.
--Using her superior skills of thespianism and persuasion, Jyrine convinces the staff of an Elder-related emergency.
--She will follow this supposed Elderspawn to the very door of Rojric Marten’s cell, thus insisting that it needs to be opened.
--(Remember, Calder, there will not actually be an Elderspawn present. Do not be afraid, as Jyrine will protect you.)
--With her authority as the Blackwatch, she will take Rojric into custody, suspecting that the Elders have corrupted him.
--Should the guards resist, Jyrine will subdue them with her legendary combat prowess.
--When she returns with Rojric Marten in tow, Calder will bow before her, kissing her feet and singing her praises to the heavens, as she rightly deserves.
At the bottom of the paper, she had signed her name with far more loops and flourishes than were strictly necessary.
“I tried to boil the steps down to their essence, for simplicity’s sake,” Jerri said, with a completely straight face. “There are some issues unaccounted for, but a good plan must allow for freedom of improvisation.”
Calder sputtered for a moment before he managed to say, “You know this is completely ridiculous.”
Jyrine lifted the paper and briefly scanned it. “No, I’d say that everything is in order.”
“First of all, if there’s not an Elderspawn present, why would you need to protect me?”
“That’s the first thing you object to, is it?”
“That and the name. Other than that...” Calder swallowed his pride and distaste, nodding to the paper. “In essence, I have to admit, this could work.”
She looked up, surprised. “I wrote this so that I could see you turn red.”
“Well, it needs some fleshing-out, but it’s not a bad idea. I could do without the repeated insults to my person, though.”
“I find those aspects of this plan indispensable.”
He leane
d over, tracing the third step of the plan with his index finger. “From what I can tell, the receptionist has been altered to respond only as her superiors tell her to. That involves calling security in the event of an emergency. A member of the Blackwatch saying there’s an Elder loose in the building surely constitutes an emergency.”
“Won’t we need more proof?” Jerri asked.
Calder shrugged. “What signs come along with the invasion of an Elder?”
“I don’t know, screaming? Creeping shadows? Spoiling milk?”
“No one knows.” If there was anything he’d learned from his few months in the Blackwatch, it was that each Elderspawn was different. Some of the Watchmen complained about how their quarry was impossible to track, and others that the Elderspawn’s shrieks had woken everyone within three city blocks. “There’s no predicting the way an unknown Elder or Elderspawn will behave. Most people have to take the word of the Blackwatch that there’s an Elder involved at all.”
She shook the end of her pen in his direction. “If you keep talking like that, I might mistake you for a real Watchman.”
He shuddered, thinking of Bliss. “Not yet, I’m not. But if you’re wearing a Watchman’s coat and badge, they should take your word for the emergency. That’s all, though. They shouldn’t release any prisoners or do anything else without an official order from the Guild or actual proof of an Elder attack.”
“Then how do we get the cell door open?” Jerri asked. “Do we steal a key? Or can you invest something that will help?”
Calder took a deep breath. He had been prepared for this when he came here, but he couldn’t help thinking that he was taking a terrible risk.
First, he covered his fingers in a handkerchief. Then he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the Emperor’s key.
“I won’t have to.”
Skepticism was painted across Jyrine’s expression. “That’s it? Will it fit the lock?”
“It doesn’t have to. One tap, and it will undo any lock that can be opened by a key.”
The skepticism faded, but her reaction was still less than Calder had hoped for. “Oh, really? Okay, that’s one problem solved. But how are we going to get him out of the building?”
He stood with the key outstretched in his hand, feeling foolish. “This is a valuable artifact.”
“It sounds very impressive. But I would expect no less out of a Reader of your skill.”
She was obviously mocking him, but he felt better anyway.
“I know you’re patronizing me,” he said, “but I still accept flattery.” He placed the key down on the table. “Now, how are we going to get him out of the building?”
“Just a moment. If we’re going to rewrite the plan, then I need to take notes.” She pulled a blank sheet of paper out of the pile and began to write a title across the top. “How about, ‘Operation: Calder Does Nothing.’”
~~~
The next morning, Calder rose early. He buttoned up his Blackwatch coat, pinned on his badge, and brushed his hair before walking downstairs for breakfast. He had to ensure that everyone down at the docks saw him at work, acting as if everything was still normal.
Because tonight, he would break his father out of prison.
The dining room was all but empty. No Artur and Vorus, no servants carrying dishes. The table wasn’t even set. Only Alsa stood with her back to the door, hurriedly dropping a sheet over something that looked suspiciously like a birdcage.
“Calder!” she exclaimed, spinning around. “You’re up early this morning.”
She stood between him and the cage, so he leaned to the side, trying to get a clearer look. It was no good; the sheet covered the birdcage entirely. “Did you buy a bird?”
“I thought we would go out for breakfast this morning,” she said, slipping into a chair. “The Testament is almost finished, so we won’t have much to do. Which gives us a little while to talk.”
Calder sat across from his mother at the foot of the table. He couldn’t suppress the thrill of nerves that shot through him. Did she know? Was she going to stop him? No, if she knew anything about the Candle Bay Imperial Prison, she might even help.
All this shot through his mind before Alsa gathered herself and spoke. “It’s been almost two years since you came to live here.”
“I will, of course, expect a party.”
“And you’ve accomplished so much in that time,” she said. “Artur tells me you’re quite taken with the fundamental philosophers, and your fencing has dramatically improved. You might even win a duel or two now, so long as you stay out of the arenas.”
He straightened in his chair. “If I can beat Cheska Bennett, I’ll be happy.”
Alsa snorted. “If the Fates are kind, she’ll drown at sea. But no, my point is...well, I know you were somewhat caught up in the whims of the Guild Head, but you did end up with a position in the Blackwatch nonetheless. The other Watchmen have been quite impressed with your enthusiasm. You’ve certainly made it easier on me.”
He allowed himself a small smile, though he wanted to laugh with pride. “Soon, I’ll be doing your job for you.”
She drummed her fingers on the table. “I may be getting old, but I’m not dead.”
From within the shrouded birdcage came a voice like a crumbling tombstone: “DEAD.”
Calder jerked back, his hand going to the nails hanging inside his coat.
Alsa held up a hand to calm him. “One of the things you’ll learn, as you spend more time among the Blackwatch, is that not all Elders are the soul-devouring, grotesque monsters from the legends. Some Elderspawn creatures are just...strange. Alien to us, in biology and mentality. But not malicious.”
He left the iron spikes where they were, pointing a trembling finger at the birdcage. “Is there an Elder in there?”
“An Elderspawn, more accurately. I picked it up recently, in response to one of our more gentle summons. The Guild has already dissected a number of this species, so they were simply going to be rid of it, but I thought you might...appreciate it. To symbolize your membership in the Blackwatch, I suppose.”
Calder was having trouble taking his eyes from the cage. He thought he saw something move, beneath the sheet. “What is it?”
“It is what’s known as a Bellowing Horror, or more commonly, a Bellows.” She stood and, with a little bow, flipped the sheet off the birdcage.
Within the cage waited a creature so malformed and poorly assembled that it took him a few seconds to figure out which end was its head. When his eyes finally traced its contours, translating its shape to something that made sense to him, the image of the creature snapped into place like a solved puzzle.
It was scarcely a foot tall, perhaps the size of a bird, and stubby. Built along the lines of a short, fat man. Its skin was greenish-black, like the wood of The Testament, and it had a pair of tiny wings that looked as though they belonged on a bat. A green, hairless bat. Surely wings like that were too small to support its bulbous body, but if that were true, why had Alsa trapped it in a birdcage?
Its eyes, balls of formless black, glared at him from inside its leathery face. Its mouth was invisible or perhaps nonexistent, hidden behind a mass of squirming, wormlike tendrils. Several of those tendrils now squirmed around the bars of its cage, as though tasting or perhaps chewing on the metal.
“A Bellowing Horror,” Calder repeated, still weirdly fascinated by the beast. “Why is it called—”
“HORROR!” it bellowed, flaring its pathetic wings.
“Oh. I see.”
Alsa laid a hand on the cage, smiling fondly down. “I call him Shuffles.”
Calder couldn’t help laughing. “Shuffles? That sounds like a three-legged dog.”
“Well, he sort of...” she shuffled forward on the carpet, imitating its walk. “...shuffles along, you see? I thought it was appropriate.”
He couldn’t speak.
“And I admit that there was a cat, in my youth. Mister Shuffles.”
&nb
sp; “Ah. And this one does not deserve an honorific?”
She leaned closer to the cage. “To tell you the truth, I’ve never been able to tell if it’s a male.”
Alsa looked at her son, Calder looked back, and they both started laughing.
Finally, Calder waved a hand in Shuffles’ direction. “Seriously, Mother, what am I supposed to do with it?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. Many in the Blackwatch keep such pets. It’s like having a bird. I had one myself, until it fell into the bathtub and dissolved.” She hesitated, and then added, “I wouldn’t walk around with it in public, if I were you.”
“I can’t imagine I would choose to do that.”
With a flourish of her wrist, she tossed the latch on the cage. “Let’s have you two get to know each other, shall we?”
He tried to protest, but Shuffles had already pushed its way out of the door. It fluttered its wings as it jumped out of the cage, landing with a thump on the table. Its nest of tendrils quested in empty air.
Calder leaned back in his chair.
“Don’t be afraid,” Alsa said. “It can’t hurt you.” She shrugged. “At least, it hasn’t hurt anyone so far.”
She was right about the way the creature moved: it shuffled along the table like a child scuffing carpet, occasionally using its wings to hop a few inches closer to Calder. When it was a few feet away, close enough for him to look into the soulless black of its eyes, it leaped.
Its wings buzzed like a hummingbird’s, and it flew at his eyes.
He shrieked like a little girl, throwing up a hand to defend his eyes. It was going to eat him! Fighting a man with a sword was one thing, but this monster was flying straight into his face!
A heavy weight settled onto his right shoulder, and something drew a wet line across his cheek. A scent blew over him, like copper and fresh fish.
When he opened his eyes a crack, he saw Shuffles staring back from half an inch away. Its tendrils worked in the air, occasionally brushing his skin.
