by Andy Havens
Ezer nodded. No need to say anything. The two men understood each other perfectly. One was the leader, one the follower. But each appreciated the other’s role. They both had work to do that only they could accomplish, and they both trusted the other to do so.
Without another word, Charlous turned and walked up the street toward the nearest Narrow Road.
The Warden heard the big doors of the library creak open behind him and turned to watch a small rush of Mundanes hustle inside.
He supposed he could have had that same conversation with Charlous over the phone. But he didn’t always trust phones. Rightly so, as he knew dozens of ways to make them spill their secrets. And while he did have faith in the Librarian’s intentions, the two wouldn’t always agree on methods.
Charlous might have had some very different information, Ezer thought as he walked in. It’s just good field-craft to have that kind of conversation live, and in a position where it can’t be overheard.
The Warden of Increase was mostly correct in his assumptions. While Monday’s various Ways had taken in and recorded Ezer’s end of the conversation, Charlous’ side of the conversation had, indeed, been blocked from the Library’s observances. The only people who might have overheard were the Mundanes on the stone benches waiting to get in. But Ezer had observed that at this range the fountain almost completely drowned out the sound of nearby conversation. He’d simply kept his voice down while the nearby Mundanes had been absorbed in their own conversations and studies.
No. An eavesdropper would need to have been right there on the Library steps to have heard both sides of their conversation. And the Warden or Charlous would certainly have noticed someone standing that close.
Unless, perhaps, you were a quiet black bird holding very still in the shadow of a stone lion.
* * * * *
Wallace and Mrs. McKey stood in the reception area of the nice-but-not-ostentatiously-so office of Niles Fayton, Wanderer of the Second Circle of Release.
Standing there on the same expensive but boring gray carpet, looking at the same lovely but uninspiring art, breathing the cool filtered air, Wallace couldn’t help but think of how Kaolyn, the greeman, had died just a few days after the last time he’d been there.
“I’m sorry,” the secretary was saying, “But Mr. Fayton is not expected back at the office at all this week. He often travels on business and his schedule is very full.”
Wallace nodded, knowing exactly what McKey was about to do. Because it’s exactly what he would have done. I’ll bet she’s just much better at it, he thought.
McKey simply waited and looked pained. Like someone who wants to give you a present… but first you have to sign for it.
About ten seconds later, the secretary said, “If you want I can certainly try to find you a spot on his calendar. No guarantees. But if it can wait at least a week or more I’m sure I can fit you in.”
She didn’t even need to ask, Wallace thought, gloating a bit on her behalf.
“How would a week from Thursday be? Sometime late in the afternoon?”
“I don’t think Niles would want to wait that long to get my information,” McKey said, leaning in just a bit. Barely closer.
But is it close enough? Wallace thought. Using his first name? Brilliant. The implied informal relationship…
“And why is that?” asked the secretary. A bit arch and tetchy, as all great executive assistants have to be from time-to-time.
McKey looked slightly to her left and right. Not turning her head, but a subtle sign that she was checking for privacy. Which made the secretary lean in a bit more in response.
Brilliant… thought Wallace.
“Let’s just say I know something about an upcoming hunt.” Here McKey actually whispered, “Something about the route.”
The secretary’s eyebrows went up and she leaned in a little bit more. “You’re from Sight. I’m sure you know all kinds of things. Why would you want to share them with Mr. Fayton?”
McKey just smiled. A tiny, knowing grin as if to say, We all have secrets, don’t we?
That’s like catnip to Release, Wallace thought. She may not know enough about Sight to realize that we don’t actually have secrets from each other. But even if she did, the fact that McKey didn’t actually say anything? The implication? Very well played, ma’am.
Fayton’s assistant nodded, intrigued by the suggestion, and now Wallace went in for the assist.
“Are you sure he doesn’t have anything this week?” Wallace asked. He was a few feet further away and used a tone that suggested both a whining sense of his own importance combined with a healthy dose of fear and disappointment.
The secretary looked at his open, annoying, pleading face, then over to McKey who rolled her eyes slightly as if to say, Idiot co-workers. What can you do?
With a sigh, Fayton’s secretary looked down at her screen and said, “Well, I can check… but I’m almost sure… no… no… I’m sorry. There’s absolutely nothing this week. As I said, he’s not even in town. Now… what about that spot a week from Thursday?”
“That’s fine,” said McKey. “Just pencil us in. But if something opens up, please call.”
The woman said, “Glad to,” as McKey handed over her business card.
“Have a nice day.”
“You, too.”
In the elevator on the way down to the lobby, Wallace didn’t congratulate her. He didn’t even grin in recognition of how good his colleague was at her job. She was good. She knew it. And so did he.
That one second when she looked down to double-check the current week was all McKey needed to read every detail of his calendar for this entire week in the reflection of her eyes.
All he did say was, “Where to?”
McKey looked at the digital floor number display above the elevator door, then back at Wallace, then at the door of the elevator.
I am an idiot, he thought. Maybe even just an idiot-in-training.
They left the Release-owned building, leaving behind any hidden recording devices. Sight wasn’t the only House who knew the importance of information. Given time, the two of them could certainly have ferreted out all the various tools. But that wasn’t the point of the visit.
Back in the Library Bug, two blocks away, McKey finally answered his question:
“He’s on a ‘board visit.’ Meeting with a Dr. Roland Daniels. At something noted only as ‘Center 5.’”
“I’ll look it up.” While his Way worked a fairly standard reference search, Wallace said, “For a guy in Release, that’s not great security. I’m surprised you were able to get it so easily. There are even Mundane devices that could have…”
“His calendar wasn’t in clear text, Wallace.”
“It wasn’t.”
“No. The secretary was using a fairly recent variation of a very complex and rarely used cryptographic system based on daily shifts of overlapping, asynchronous data cycles.”
So that one second was all she needed to identify the code system and either Way-break it or interpret it based on knowledge and memory of the code itself? All in the reverse reflection of the woman’s eyes.
Holy crap. And she doesn’t even look mildly smug about it.
His own Way popped back with the information he’d requested.
“Got it. Daniels is the director of a mental health facility of some kind. Research and treatment both. There are a bunch of them… sixteen it looks like… and… there it is. Number five is on a rural plot of land in New Hampshire near Lake Winnipesaukee.”
“Check to see if they list board members somewhere,” McKey asked, already speeding onto the Narrows.
“Sure do. And… yup. There’s Fayton. On the board of trustees for more than ten years. He’s using an alias for the position, though. Carl Lynne.”
McKey nodded. “Part of his Seeming, I’m sure. My guess is that the charity is almost entirely peopled with Mundanes.”
“A front?”
“Not necessar
ily. I mean, our Library isn’t a front, is it? It’s just something that’s got a Mundane use but is more than that for us. It may be that, as a Wanderer in Release, Fayton makes use of Mundane resources from this place. Or he may be hiding something or someone there.”
“Or looking for someone.”
“Exactly.”
“Not that it matters,” Wallace said.
“To this errand? No,” McKey agreed. “But is there such a thing as ‘extra information?’”
Wallace laughed. “No, ma’am.”
“No ma’am indeed.”
They were silent for several minutes as the world sped by around them.
“Lake Winnipesaukee?” McKey asked at one point.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever been there.”
“Why would you, ma’am?”
“Why indeed, sir.”
McKey looked at her watch and said, “It looked from the calendar like Fayton planned to be at this place until at least 4pm. It’s still early. You met this fellow before. So why don’t you take lead on the trip. And take Kendra White along.”
“Kendra? Why?”
“Why not? She’s part of this. Fayton knew her mother. Worked with her. Kendra might want to meet him. You two seem to get along. Plus, I’ve got some background work I’d like to do with Mr. Monday while we prep for this conclave… or whatever he’s going to call it.”
A road trip with just me and Kendra? Wallace thought. OK. Why not? Going to pick this guy up should be no problem. He seemed nice enough before. I will have to explain how we figured out his location… But if he’s interested in joining us, I bet he’d let that slide…
“Sure,” he answered. “Sounds like a plan.”
They drove on in silence, Wallace thinking through details of the excursion and McKey planning preparations for the upcoming meeting of the Houses.
* * * * *
Charlous had been to Pendulum Hall several times. As a guy who “got things done” for Increase, he travelled around more than most and had much more contact with Reckoners from other Houses than was the norm. While Flux was widely regarded as the least powerful Domain, they still had their uses. And Charlous always found the right tool for the right job.
In fact, he thought, I might try to run into McNaab or Linak Portman or J’oh the Diver while I’m at the Hall. Never hurts to press the flesh with past-and-future contacts.
Flux was one of only three Houses with a known, permanent headquarters. Like Increase and Sight, they didn’t rely on any kind of stealth or deception. It wasn’t in their nature.
The rise must be seen, the fall must be felt, went the Flux proverb.
However, the once mightiest Domain of them all had, for thousands of years, been reduced to a mere reflection of its former glory. That the shame and loss of status happened so long ago was no consolation. Reckoners have long lives and Houses have longer memories. While there were more than a few in Flux who dreamed and plotted of rising again, Charlous knew it would take something on the order of a worldwide catastrophe or tectonic shifting of the Ways to make that even vaguely possible.
There were no servants to announce him as there might have been in the (very) old days. There was no formal process for entry into the Hall. Visitors simply approached the border of the current estate (the front porch of a large, Victorian-era mansion), spoke their intentions clearly (in order to satisfy the most minimal requirements of Law and kanli), signed into the guest book (if from another House) and walked in.
About once a century, when there was a personal calamity or unreasonable success to observe among the major players in the Domain, the Hall was filled to bursting with important guests and sycophantic retainers. Otherwise…
It reminded Charlous of some large, English estates he’d visited during the beginning of the Industrial Revolution. He’d go to meet with some clever second or third son of a waning noble family in order to talk about mining pumps or automatic looms. These were men with the finest educations, family money to support their interests and no real responsibilities. They were often highly intelligent, motivated by a sense of discovery and of fraternity within the larger technical community. Charlous had enjoyed his time with them immensely, whether Mundane or Reckoner. The dwindling estates of the aristocratic families themselves, though, had seemed almost haunted in their relative emptiness.
As agricultural machinery took the place of ploughmen and household appliances multiplied the efficiency of servants by factors of ten and twenty, the need for a huge staff fell off dramatically. Buildings created to house 100 or more servants now functioned fully with 15. A large, agrarian estate might have seen three-quarters of its working people move to the cities for better jobs, education or advancement. Who was left?
Like Pendulum Hall, they had become museums to past glory.
Several young Reckoners were lounging on the porch, chatting and weighing the relative merits of a variety of beverages. Charlous passed them by without a wave or a word and they didn’t seem to notice.
The entrance hall was entirely empty. A vast space with a double staircase leading to the main entertainment wing, it had once served as a waiting area. What a friend from Flux had described to Charlous as a kind of “status air-lock.” A place to keep the not-quite-important-enough waiting until their presence was required by the true elite.
"O where ha you been, Lord Randal, my son?”
Not entirely empty…
A voice from the corner. A young-seeming woman almost hidden in the folds of the drapes she lounged against.
Charlous walked toward her and saw that her dress was made, in fact, out of the same material as the curtains. A rough, gray-and-black tartan of sorts. Not attractive on the windows. Borderline ugly as dress material.
“I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” Charlous replied courteously.
She had the Seeming of a Mundane in her mid-to-late 20’s. Fully adult, but not touched by age in any way. Not pretty, precisely, but a kind of face one might describe as “interesting.” Her long, straight hair was dyed a deep, almost obnoxiously artificial turquoise. She perched on a small window seat, staring at him with open disinterest and boredom. Her bulky, heavy dress bunched up around her so much that Charlous couldn’t begin to guess at her height or size.
“Not a fan of Mundane folklore, are we?” she asked.
“No, not as such,” he replied. “When I study the Mundane, it is usually in the areas of engineering and architecture.”
“Fascinating.” She turned and pulled back the curtain nearest her a crack, pretending to be interested in whatever was going on outside. Which was, of course, nothing.
She’s at the nadir, Charlous realized. That point furthest from fortune in the swing of the great pendulum.
Reckoners of Flux in this position were a tricky lot. On the one hand, they were sometimes willing to attempt great or foolish deeds in order to begin a fast ascent. Sometimes, though, they were simply bogged down in the process of falling as far as possible.
Hard to tell at first glance, Charlous thought. Might as well get to business.
“My name is Charlous, of House Increase,” he said politely. “I’m wondering if you know—is the Queen in attendance at the Hall? Miss…”
She turned back to him with a lazy glance. “You can call me Annie,” she said.
“A pleasure to meet you, Annie. Do you know…”
“Yes, yes. She’s in the Fountain Court, I think. She was there yesterday, anyway.”
“I’m not familiar with that part of the Hall, I’m sorry.”
“It’s down the hall to the left there, then up a flight, then over and through the… oh, screw it.”
She stood up, trying to flatten the dress with her hands and failing. It bunched up around her in weird, angled folds and clumps, making her look like a badly wrapped gift.
“Follow me. Easier than explaining.”
As they walk
ed, Charlous could see that she was tall and heavy in an athletic way. Hard to tell under that awful outfit, though, he thought. But he detected signs of strength and balance in her movements. As someone who often had to resolve issues physically, he was adept at reading the signs of movement and poise.
She moves a bit like a swimmer. Someone with full-body strength. But not entirely comfortable out of her element.
They went down one hall, turned twice quickly, went up a short staircase past an empty garden or aviary, down another hall, through a dining room where several groups of people were playing quiet board or card games, and finally into a courtyard dominated by a large, ornate fountain.
“Thank you, Annie,” Charlous said. “That was most helpful.”
The woman waved away his thanks and headed back the way they’d come.
“Enjoy your stay. Avoid the eels.”
What an odd creature, he thought. But they all are. No matter where they are in the arc.
It wasn’t an outdoor courtyard, he realized, though he’d thought as much at first. It was filled with natural if hazy, gray light from a series of huge skylights above. The fountain itself was gorgeously carved with a series of statues depicting people in every stage of life. Babies in mothers’ arms, young men and women competing in various sports, mature lovers, wise patriarchs and elders bestowing blessings.
Mere trickles and spurts of water ran from various nozzles in the edifice. At full blast, it might have been a glorious sight, a sculpture of sound and movement. As it was…
Sad. Obviously and transparently so.
There were several dozen Reckoners seated and standing around the courtyard. They spoke and listened. Some joked, though their laughter sounded as thin and reedy as the trickles of water. A few played at games like those in the study he’d passed through.
The weakest of Flux have always enjoyed games, he recalled. A way to track triumph and loss in the placement of a card or the throw of a dice.
He’d never been to the Fountain Court before. But it had the same smell of decay and depression he’d experienced everywhere else in Pendulum Hall.
