The massive wooden desk where the Seneschal sat gleamed with hours of hard polishing, but the surface was covered with loosely stacked paper, flat and rolled. A half-eaten sandwich on a plate was wedged in among the mess, along with three empty mugs. The room smelled like meat and old coffee. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant smell, but the presence of old coffee hinted at the presence of new coffee. Nate hoped he would be offered some.
“Magus,” the Seneschal said, sounding genuinely pleased to see him. “Delighted that you could come. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to send for you earlier, but—” he gestured to the piles “—I’ve been busy.” He pointed to a chair.
Nate sat down. “I would think so. Congratulations.”
The gray man lifted an eyebrow. He still wore the same clothes he’d worn under Elban, but he seemed more relaxed. “I don’t think congratulations are in order. All things come to an end, do they not? And new things emerge.” He sat back in his chair. “If you want to congratulate someone, congratulate the people of New Highfall. They’re the ones doing the work.”
“And the factory managers, from what I hear.”
“Who better? Now that they’re no longer hampered by the outdated mindsets of their former owners, New Highfall’s factories will be more prosperous than ever.”
“And who will benefit, now that the courtiers are gone?”
“If the factories prosper, everyone prospers. Higher profit means higher pay. And the courtiers aren’t gone. They’ve merely returned to their own provinces to manage their own industries. Under the watchful eyes of their new ministers, of course.” The Seneschal smiled with satisfaction. “I have such amazing plans, magus. You’ll see. This city will be the vanguard of a new world.”
“Very exciting,” Nate said, and then could restrain himself no longer. “How are the Children?”
“Well into adulthood, as you’re aware. Confined to their rooms while my resource assessors finish with the House, and perfectly safe.”
A dizzy rush of relief washed over Nate. He wasn’t sure how well he hid it, so he said, “I’m glad to hear it. I’ve grown rather fond of them.”
“They’re not unlikeable,” the Seneschal evenly. “Much like yourself. You’re a striver, magus. I was a striver, when I was young. Also, you’re a good magus, and worldly. I thought about asking you to represent the magi on the leadership committee, but it turns out that the other magi in the city don’t particularly like you. Apparently they felt it was a bit presumptuous of me to appoint you House Magus.”
“I don’t have time for politics.”
“Not while treating all of Marketside and Brakeside for free, you don’t.” The Seneschal waved a hand. “It’s fine. It’s your time and your herbs. Elban didn’t want to bother treating the poor when they got sick, but Elban’s dead. I say if they have the wherewithal to find medicine, they’re welcome to it. We need a working class. Just don’t neglect your official duties.”
“I’m still House Magus, then?” Nate said warily. “For how long?”
The Seneschal stared at him, then said, “Oh. You’re wondering if I’m going to kill the Children. It would be the usual course of action after a coup, wouldn’t it? My guards risked a great deal, turning on Elban and taking down the Lord’s Guard, and now they have to risk even more, fending off delusional loyalists who want to put Gavin on the throne, gods help us all. The boy may look like Clorin, but what little he knows about governance he learned at Elban’s knee.”
“The story about Elban’s death was a lie, then,” Nate said. “The Nali didn’t try to retake their chieftain.”
“Oh, they did. They just didn’t get very far. My men were on the lookout for an opportunity. They killed Elban, they killed his guard—now, I think, nothing would make them happier than to kill his heirs, and end the empire once and for all.” The Seneschal seemed to notice the sandwich, then, and pulled it closer. “But I have bigger plans. And as you know, killing Gavin is no simple matter.”
“So Judah dies, too.” Just speaking the words made Nate’s skin crawl. “Why do you care?”
“Well, for one thing, I’m not a monster. I do like the girl.” He lifted the top piece of bread from the sandwich, contemplated the meat inside and pushed it away. “But it’s the bond I’m interested in. I doubt I can figure it out by cutting into their dead bodies. You haven’t seen anything like it before, have you?”
“No.” At least, not exactly like. “I thought that was Elban’s great quest, to figure it out.”
“Elban’s great quest was to destroy it,” the Seneschal said. “Oh, before he died he started to develop some broader ideas, but ultimately, he had no vision.”
“You’re different, of course.”
Amused, the Seneschal said, “Do you know what I see at night, when I close my eyes?”
Nate didn’t answer.
“I see the House,” he said. “Not the building; the entity. The machine. So much material in, food and goods and bodies; so much material out, influence and power and wealth. And what did the City Lords do with that influence and power and wealth? Wasted it. Gorged themselves on it, and accomplished nothing. The courtiers liked to play at politics, but for the last few generations it’s been the trade ministers and factory managers who’ve been Highfall’s real motive power. They’re the engine. Elban and the others were—” his mouth twisted with distaste “—a pretty gold casing that hid the real work. What I’ve done is strip the casing away. Give the provinces to the ministers and the factories to their managers. Let the engine run as fast and far as it’s capable of going—but now, instead of wasting energy fueling the House, it will power itself. Do you know what hampered Elban most, magus?”
Nate was impatient. He wanted to know what would happen to Judah; he didn’t care what happened to Elban’s empire. “A profound lack of humanity?”
That got a smile, albeit a cold one. “Time. It takes a man on a fast horse three weeks to ride from here to the farthest reaches of Elban’s empire. A carriage, with any kind of burden, half that much again. His forebears made court life attractive specifically so the families that controlled the provinces would keep a member or two inside. So instead of a sending an envoy who’d be gone for months, the Lords could send a page for the appropriate courtier. Whatever decisions needed to be made could be dispensed with in a matter of minutes, once the courtier sobered up and put their clothes back on. The courtier could choose to send an envoy home, on their own coin, or not. Most of the time they went with not.”
“I’m told you’ve abolished the courtiers,” Nate said.
“The city courtiers, sure. We took their factories and manors, and so forth; that makes for a good show and fills the coffers without doing any actual damage. But the provincial courtiers, whose home provinces have something useful to trade—iron or metalfiber or food—we sent them home, as long as they were willing to sign new trade agreements, and abide by the decisions of my ministers. I even sent guards with them to protect them along the way. Unlike Elban, I don’t actually enjoy the idea of slaughtering people I’ve known for years. Which is not to say I won’t do it, if necessary—I will, obviously—but my hope is to hold the empire together by mutual benefit, not force. Which brings us back to time. As it stands, it takes weeks for me to hear about problems in the provinces, and weeks more to respond. The delay isn’t acceptable.”
“And what do you propose to do about that?” Although Nate knew. Of course he did.
“Gavin and Judah,” the Seneschal said. “Elban went after the Nali because the way the Nali fight—it’s like fighting a hive of bees, or a flock of sparrows. They move as one, silently, without any apparent means of communication. They can still think for themselves, but it’s said that each fighter knows at all times not just where every other fighter is, but what they’re seeing. They have a rather poetic name for it, which doesn’t quite translate, but which means someth
ing like seeing from inside the reflection on the water. Not quite what Judah and Gavin can do, but not entirely unlike it, either, don’t you think?”
Water and blood and tide and the moon. He had never seen such a Work done, and he wasn’t anywhere near knowledgeable enough to know how to perform one himself, but it seemed possible. It surprised him that none of the Slonimi had ever tried it—but they hadn’t needed it, had they? They never fought organized battles; if they ran into trouble on the road, they fled. Perhaps it would have been useful to them now, in Highfall, but he could practically hear Derie scoff. Waste of good Work. We’ve got mouths to talk with, don’t we?
Everything the Seneschal was saying terrified him.
“But Judah and Gavin can’t actually communicate, can they?” he said calmly.
“Not in words. But over the years, they’ve developed a code. Scratches on their skin, specific patterns that mean specific things. Judah’s idea, I’m sure. Gavin’s not nearly clever enough. We never knew about it, all these years, although I suspected they had something. Anyway, Judah told Elban about it right before he left on his final campaign.”
Nate couldn’t hide his horror. “Why would she do that?”
“As a bargaining chip. Elban was playing one of his games with the four of them. Setting them on fire to watch them run in circles—pushing Gavin, primarily. Most people have no idea how cruel the old bastard could be.” The Seneschal’s distaste for Elban was clear. “She’s very lucky things happened the way they did. I was quite angry with her when I heard about it. If she’d just been patient—anyway, the point is that the chieftain the army brought back could sense the bond between them. He wasn’t willing to do anything about it, then, but after further reflection, and a few weeks in Highfall Prison, he’s beginning to change his mind.”
Something about the Seneschal’s tone suggested that the chieftain’s so-called reflection was both involuntary and painful. Distantly, Nate thought he should care, but he didn’t. “You think he can break it?”
The Seneschal looked surprised. “I don’t want to break the bond, magus. I want to replicate it.” He considered. “Well, I want to break it, then replicate it. I want to be able to break it or forge it at will. What I really want—” and his face was alive now, like an unlit torch bursting into flame “—is to build a new Guild. The Communicators. Or perhaps we’ll call them after Judah. The Judanese, maybe, or the Judanians. The Nali bond only works in relatively close proximity, you know, but we haven’t found a physical limit with Judah and Gavin. I took him two weeks’ travel out of the city when he was a baby—when Arkady cut Judah’s heel back in the nursery, the cut on Gavin’s foot appeared instantaneously.” The Seneschal’s eyes were alight with fervor. “Imagine: instantaneous communication. Pairs of communicators, sent throughout the empire. Bond them when they’re children, raise them together if that seems to be important. Maybe we could even bond more than one person together, like the Nali. Or maybe it can be passed down to offspring. You’ve seen the bond, magus. You know it works. Why shouldn’t we use it to our advantage?”
Because to do so would be a perversion of the Work and a crime against all that makes us human, and the invalidation of my entire life. “No reason, I suppose. But why tell me all of this now?”
“Because I need your help. According to the chieftain, the formation of the Nali bond is difficult; not everyone lives. They’ve never deliberately tried to break it, but of course people do die in battle. The rest of the group survives—it wouldn’t be much use, strategically, if you could take out the whole unit by killing one member—but sometimes one of the survivors goes mad. I’d prefer that Judah and Gavin not go mad, and obviously, I’d rather they not die. From what the chieftain says, the entire process will go more smoothly if they’re willing participants. Which is where you come in.”
Hope fluttered in Nate’s chest. “Where I come in?”
“Judah trusts you. Convince her to consent to the chieftain’s experiments. Once she’s on board, Gavin will follow, weak-willed as he is. You’ll have your work cut out for you. She doesn’t like me at all, and the chieftain predicted that the process will be painful. But she’s strong. She can withstand quite a bit of pain.” He spoke casually, as if discussing Judah’s favorite kind of cake.
“I don’t know how I’d do that.” Nate forced himself to sound reluctant, but the flutter of hope was growing, unfolding. Convince. That sounded like the sort of thing that had to happen inside the Wall, in person.
“Just carry on the way you have. My men are taking the crops and livestock and anything else of value from the House; it’s a bit absurd to leave all the fertile land inside the wall unfarmed, but right now the managers are focused on the city, and they’ll accept house arrest for the Children. That place wasn’t built to be lived in unstaffed, though. Just getting water will be an ordeal, particularly once we strip the pipes from the aquifer. The four of them have lived comfortable lives; after a month or two of hardship, I expect they’ll be very receptive to an alternate arrangement.” He leaned forward. “Ultimately, I’d like to move them all out of the city—which is another reason it would be better if they were willing, so Gavin could give a speech before they left. Leaving for the good of New Highfall, or something. The place I have in mind is very remote, and we could work on the project in earnest, without distractions.”
That was unacceptable. Gavin and Judah had to be in the House. The power could only be unbound in the place where it was bound. Nate realized that everything would have to move faster now. Stalling, he said, “What about Eleanor and Theron?”
“Gavin and Judah are attached to them. I didn’t particularly enjoy Elban’s games, but they did demonstrate the usefulness of love, as either carrot or stick.” He shrugged. “If an opportunity arises to get one or both of them out of the way, cleanly, I wouldn’t refuse. Eleanor has an independent streak, and Theron is impossible to keep locked up. I swear, that boy can pick a lock just by looking at it, addled brains or no.” There was something close to admiration in his voice. “At this point, the guards are just there to keep him from letting the others out.”
“Judah has an independent streak, too.”
“I’m counting on it. That girl has spent her entire life being reminded at every moment how little she matters except as a body with a pulse. It was always the others who were important, not her.”
“She’s important now,” Nate said, which at least felt true; and the Seneschal said, “Magus, as far as you’re concerned, she’s the most important person in the city.”
* * *
On his way home, he felt like he must be glowing with panic and frustration, but none of the passersby seemed to notice. There was no time. He checked the Harteswell gate but found no sign of Derie. Back at the manor in Limley he signaled her again, but she didn’t respond. There was nothing to do but wait.
Two days passed. Charles wept, and moaned and—once—drove his head against the floor, over and over, begging Nate to make it stop. Nate did not want to give him opium and exchange one addiction for another; there was nothing he could do. He barely slept. The coup had been chaos and screaming, but it had fallen on the residents of Highfall—sorry, New Highfall—like an ice storm in summer: something entirely unnatural and out of their control. They were left dazed, unseated. Some of them, like Bindy’s sister, had latched onto their New Lives in New Highfall with ferocious enthusiasm, but most of the people Nate saw in the streets were merely trying to get through their days, to sell their bread or weave their cloth, to brew their beer or drink it. Those patients who came to the front door did so with an almost childish daring, as if racing through a burial yard at midnight. Those who came to the gate wouldn’t discuss the coup. They seemed to feel that even speaking of it was dangerous, and it was best to ignore the entire thing.
New people moved into the manors on Limley Square. Rina told him that factory managers and employees
were being moved into the districts the managers controlled “because they’ll care more for their own neighborhoods, of course.” She was at Arkady’s manor for the resource inventory, which turned out to be a half-dozen workers from Paper going over the manor from top to bottom, writing down everything they found and taking any goods they deemed valuable or luxurious. Once it was established that the lab—and Charles, huddling on Nate’s pallet inside it—would be left alone, the inventory didn’t bother Nate at all. The search committee could take what they wanted; nothing in the manor was his. Rina, in a white and brown sash like her mother’s, had clearly found herself in a position of some power. Eagle-eyed and efficient, she followed the workers from room to room, making sure they didn’t miss anything. She could not be less like Bindy; there was no merriment in her, no music.
“What will they do with it all?” he asked her, as Arkady’s favorite chair left the manor feet-first.
“Sell it,” she said promptly. “Reinvest the profits in the factory.”
“Sell it? To who? Nobody has any money anymore. It’s all been confiscated.”
He spoke without thinking. Rina’s eyes turned to flint. “Surely, even where you’re from, farmers expect to be paid for their crops, and miners their ore. For once, they’ll be getting a fair price.”
Nate almost asked how those farmers and miners would feel about being paid in confiscated furniture, but Rina’s glower told him he’d better not. Every citizen over the age of fourteen had to work now, and each position had to be approved by the factory committee. Bindy was just fourteen. Nate had applied to the New Highfall Productivity Board for her to be named his apprentice, officially, but he hadn’t received confirmation yet. Rina and Nora had argued over the apprenticeship; Rina had wanted Bindy in the factory, where she’d have more opportunity for advancement. Nora said Bindy was just fine where she was. He didn’t know why Bindy’s mother had intervened, but he was grateful. Also, and more worrisomely, Rina had warned him that even Charles would need to find work, and soon. He didn’t know if Rina could make either process more difficult, but he knew that he didn’t want more trouble to fall on people he cared about, so all he said was, “I’m glad to hear it.”
The Unwilling Page 38
