Arcanum

by Simon Morden

Büber looked down at his nails, those that he had left, and they were black crescents. He’d have to use something else other than the brush to get that out. A quill would do or, ironically, a pen nib.

  “Then you’d better send him in.”

  There was very little hay left in the barn, and only some straw. Which was only to be expected after the passage of winter, but it left few places for the men to sleep. It was also cold, and it was damp cold at that. There was a fire, but it was in the house, and he didn’t feel like company. Not unreasonably, he’d decided that all men were bastards, himself included. Mean, petty, vicious bastards. And the women: one woman in particular had shown savagery beyond mortal comprehension.

  He had the urge to run, barely restrained by his bone-deep weariness.

  “Master Büber?” The voice was different, younger.

  Büber glanced around to see a mere slip of a boy, shoulders wet with rain. The crude lantern he carried made the droplets shine. But then, the librarian’s lantern was no cruder than the one he was washing by.

  “Yes.”

  “Under-librarian Thaler sent me. He said it was important.”

  “Did he now?”

  “Yes, huntmaster. He wrote you this letter.” He produced it with a flourish.

  Büber tried to dry his hands on the towel, but it was already wet and dirty, so he stopped and just let them drip on the beaten-earth floor. “Let me see.”

  The messenger brought the sealed letter over to him, and held up the outside of the parchment for him. It was blank.

  “You know I can’t …?”

  “Yes, Master Büber. Mr Thaler explained all that to me: I’m to read it to you, in private.” He hesitated. “You are alone?”

  “Yes,” said Büber. “I’m very alone. I’ll keep washing other men’s blood off. Bring your lantern close so I can see better.”

  The librarian did so, and sat on an upturned manger before he cracked the wax seal and unfolded the creased letter. He tilted the words to the meagre light and cleared his throat.

  “To Huntmaster Peter Büber, from Under-librarian Frederik Thaler, by the grace and authority of His Highness Prince Gerhard V of Carinthia: greetings.” The librarian stopped. “Oh.”

  “There’s no reason for him to know. In fact, it might be an idea for you to ride back as fast as you can with messages for the White Fortress and the mayor. Have you got pen and ink?”

  “Yes, Master Büber, and paper, in case you wanted to send a reply to Mister Thaler.”

  Büber stopped scrubbing for a moment and rested his hands in the bottom of the bowl. “What’s your name?”

  “Braun, sir.”

  “Read the letter, Mr Braun.” Büber picked up the brush once more, and listened to Thaler’s words, relayed through the voice of the librarian.

  “I have urgent news from Juvavum. The lights have gone out in the library, causing some small confusion, but that is not the worst of it. It appears that all magical lights have ceased working across the city, along with all wagons, fountains and consequently the fresh and foul water systems. Extrapolating further, it is most likely that the barges have stopped – this is true, Master Büber: when I crossed the river, the quayside was in chaos, and a barge was stuck sideways across the supports of the main bridge.”

  If Büber had given it much thought, he would have expected all that. If the hexmasters’ magic had gone, if the bridge at Simbach had all but vanished, their own wagons left idle, then why not everywhere else?

  “I know this. At least, none of this is new. What else does he say?”

  Braun retraced the words. “Then it occurred to me that there was a pattern. Your discoveries in the forests of Carinthia were directly related to today’s events. The sudden reluctance of the hexmasters to appear before the prince, or ride with him to war, and other seemingly trivial incidents suddenly all made sense. It has become clear to me that the source of magic, whatever that might be, has been dissipating for some time, and that the Order of the White Robe must have been, at the very least, aware of the possibility that this day’s events would transpire, even if the timing was in question. That neither you nor I were informed does not exclude the prince having foreknowledge of the event, but consideration of his actions regarding the Teutons leads me to believe that he is acting without full command of the facts.”

  “Not quite,” said Büber. “But no reason to make allowances for the boneheadedness of those who lead us. Like all warnings, they come too late. Go on.”

  “You must, as a matter of urgency, apprise His Majesty of the situation, so that he can best decide his future course. Juvavum is quiet but tense for the moment, but the militia are more conspicuous by their absence, as are the Order themselves. There is no reason for lawlessness, but when did lawlessness need a reason?” Braun looked up. “There is a little more.”

  “Give me all of it.”

  “Can the Order still act? Have they already solved this problem, and are they wilfully denying the prince the benefit of the solution, or are they now powerless? Be careful, my friend, whichever it might be. Your faithful servant, Frederik Thaler, Under-librarian.” Braun folded the letter shut. “That’s it, though I can read any part of it again, if you’d like.”

  “No, no. That’s clear enough.” Büber wiped his hands on his undershirt and slumped into a pile of hay. It smelt of warm summer sun and tiny fleeting flowers. He could close his eyes and fall asleep, right there, and hope they never found him in the morning when the time came to move on.

  “I’m supposed to forget the contents now, and never mention them again.”

  “It’s probably better that you do,” said Büber lazily. “No good can come from remembering such things.”

  “What are you going to do, Master Büber?”

  “There’s probably enough there to get me pressed for treason, though I’ll be in good company. The whole Order of the White Robe will be under the same slab as me, though if they want to include Thaler, they’ll need a bigger rock.” The hay was pricking him through his clothes. It was ticklish, and he rolled this way and that to push himself deeper.

  “Do you really think …?” Braun opened the letter again and re-read the offending paragraphs. “I don’t see what you’ve done wrong.”

  “I relied on the Order to tell the prince about something I found. I shouldn’t have: I’m a prince’s man and that’s where I owe fealty. I served two masters, and I was wrong. I was scared of the hexmasters. And now look where we are, without a prince and almost entirely without magic.” Tiredness washed over Büber in waves. “If I’d have known. But then again, who knew? Not us mundanes, that’s for sure.”

  “There are only three people who know what this says. You could burn it.” said Braun, helpfully.

  “Yes. I could.” It was no use. Büber roused himself, dragging himself to his feet and brushing the hay from him. “But I could also do my duty one last time. Hand me the letter.”

  Braun held it back. “Or you could run.”

  Büber reached out and pulled the letter away. “I could do that too. But this is something that Felix needs to know. What he does after that is up to him: he is the Prince of Carinthia.”

  Braun tried one last time. “Mr Thaler speaks very highly of you.”

  Momentarily lost for words, Büber traced his finger along the pen strokes that made up his name. “I’m lucky to count him as a friend. My mind is made up, though. You should join the men in the stables, see to your horse, get something to eat. I imagine you’ll be riding back hard in the morning. I’ll go and do what I have to do.”

  He took his lantern by the end of its chain, where it was the coolest, and left the barn.

  Braun was right. He could turn one way, and no one would see or hear from him again. Or he could turn the other, and let the dice fall where they may. That was what Nikoleta had said before Obernberg. That had worked out well.

  Büber let the cold night wind chill his damp body and stir his clothes with its gus
tiness. He shrugged his tall, spare shoulders, and trudged to the farmhouse, entering through the kitchen to the room beyond. Both were banked with strongly burning fires: they should have been comforting, but all he could see in the flames were twisting bodies.

  He was suddenly aware that the second room was full of people, and they were all staring at him gazing into the heart of the fire.

  Allegretti cleared his throat noisily. “Master Büber. Heat escapes through an open door.”

  Büber took a deep breath. “My lord prince, I’ve received a letter from Juvavum.”

  The earls, Felix, Allegretti, all suddenly sat up. The farmer and his wife, who had been solicitously serving the prince and his entourage, looked uncomfortable, then relieved as Allegretti waved them away. They retreated to the kitchen and closed the door, quietly but firmly.

  “A letter?” asked Felix. “What does it say?”

  Allegretti stood between Büber and the fire. “More pertinent is why your huntmaster is receiving letters at all. Give it to me.”

  Used to obeying, Büber almost relinquished it without a word of complaint. Then, before Allegretti could snatch it from him, he put it behind his back. “It is addressed to me, Master Allegretti, and I’ll give it to my lord.”

  For a big man, he could sidestep quickly. He knelt on one knee before Felix, who was perched on a milking stool in front of the hearth, nursing his shoulder. He held out the letter. His courtly language was lacking, not that Gerhard ever seemed to mind, but he tried his best.

  “I think I may have done your father wrong, my lord. I have already shown you my desire to serve you, so whatever you decide, I will do it gladly.” Büber bowed his head and felt the parchment rasp against his fingertips as it was extracted by a curious twelve-year-old.

  One of the earls started to speak, but before he had even got the first syllable out, Felix held up his hand and said simply, “Silence.”

  He shook the parchment out, and flattened it over his knee. He started to read. “Who is this Thaler?”

  “Under-librarian, my lord.”

  “That’s what it says here. What is he to you?”

  “My friend of twenty years, my lord.”

  “Ah.” Felix’s eyes scanned the first paragraph with a frown. “Juvavum is in darkness. Everything has stopped working. The barges, too.”

  The earls muttered to themselves, and Felix’s frown deepened. It looked strange on his face.

  “Your discoveries, huntmaster?” he asked. “What did you discover?”

  Büber swallowed hard. “I found a unicorn’s horn, in the forest over near Mondsee. The … it was just lying there, it hadn’t been cut or torn. No sign of the unicorn’s body, or blood, or a fight, or anything. I told the Order, because by tradition and right it’s theirs. They came and took it away, and told me not to say anything to anyone. Not even your father.”

  He looked up from his kneeling position to see Felix staring at him over the top of the page.

  “And did you?” asked Felix.

  “I didn’t tell anyone.” Büber lowered his gaze. “Not that time.”

  “Not that time?”

  “It happened again. Or I found another one that happened at the same time, I don’t know. I didn’t even tell the Order this time. I thought that they’d kill me to keep me quiet.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Unicorns are near-immortal, my lord: they don’t just curl up and die, and when they’re killed, they don’t just disappear. They are the most magical of all creatures, so I’m told, more than dragons even, and if the hexmasters were scared of whatever was taking the unicorns, I was terrified. They bought my silence, my lord, with gold and fear. When I found the second horn, I knew the Order would make me disappear, too. So I went to Frederik Thaler, and asked him to look through all those books he has to see if anything like this has happened before. I told no one else, and neither did he.”

  “When was this?”

  Büber counted up the days in his head. “Three? No, four days since I talked to Mr Thaler.”

  “Your Mr Thaler says the magic was already going long before now, and the Order knew.” Felix put the letter down in his lap, and looked at the adults in the room, checking their reaction, before turning awkwardly back to Büber. “When did you find the first horn, huntmaster?”

  “Last full moon, my lord. A whole month ago.” Büber’s legs were aching, locked in one position that he couldn’t move from. At least he’d told the prince everything now. He felt lighter, though he knew a confession wouldn’t save him.

  “Where,” said Felix, searching the shadows of the room, “is Mistress Agana?”

  Allegretti looked at the ceiling. “Upstairs, my lord. She said her spellcasting had drained her completely, and she needed to rest.”

  The prince tutted and kicked his heels against the floor. “We can talk to her in the morning, I suppose.”

  “You are the Prince of Carinthia, my lord. You can talk to her now, if you wish.” Allegretti made to stand.

  “I do wish, signore. I wish it very much.”

  “Then it shall be done.” But Allegretti didn’t go himself. He waved at Earl Schenk to wake the witch.

  Büber was still down on one knee, and Felix finally seemed to notice. “Get up, huntmaster.”

  “My lord.” It came out more as a groan. He was stiff, and tired, and after everything he’d done that day, he just wanted it to be over.

  “You should have told my father about this.”

  “Yes, my lord. I realise my mistake.” Büber stared straight ahead: no one met his eye.

  “This really mattered.”

  “I know, my lord.” Here it comes. Will it be hanging, or pressing, or one of the old ways? The blood eagle, or the one where he’d have to walk around the irminsul, winding his guts on it as he went.

  Nikoleta blundered into the room, breaking the tension. “My lord?” She scrubbed at her face with tattooed hands, then lowered them to adjust her hastily thrown-on robes.

  “Did you know?” said Felix.

  She blinked, and rubbed her fingers through her loosely curling hair. “Know what, my lord?”

  “That the magic was fading away.”

  She was still stuck by the door to the stairs, so she pushed her way through to the fire before answering.

  “Yes,” she said. She looked for a chair, then at Büber, sweating with his back to the hearth. “Peter? What’s going on?”

  “I’ve just told the prince that I found two unicorns’ horns in the forests. I told the Order about the first, a librarian about the second, but his father about neither.”

  “Unicorn horns are the property of the Order throughout Carinthia,” she said, curious. “Does that mean you kept one?”

  “Yes. The unicorns didn’t die, though: they vanished. The hexmasters were frightened by that, and they frightened me enough to keep me quiet.”

  Felix scowled. “Shut up, everyone. I’m the one asking the questions. Mistress, did you know the magic was disappearing?”

  “Yes,” and then to forestall any further argument she carried on, “and so did your father. I told him as soon as I could, and I’d only just found out myself. I told him to turn around, get more men, use a different strategy, but he wouldn’t have it. You can’t blame Master Büber, because he’s a hunter and what do hunters know about magic? Nothing.”

  “I am the Prince of Carinthia,” said Felix, jumping up and echoing Allegretti’s words. “I’ll blame who I like.” The letter spilt onto the floor, abandoned for the moment.

  “You could, my lord, but you would be wrong.” She didn’t shout it out, but spoke softly: admonishing a child, not defying a prince. “If you want to blame someone, blame me. If I hadn’t answered your father’s summons, he’d have been forced to turn back. I appeared and I gave him the confidence to carry on. My loyalty cost him his life and the life of every Carinthian who died today.” Nikoleta clasped her fingers in front of her, a gesture desi
gned to show she was not a threat, not now, not to the young prince or his earls. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t persuade your father to take a different course of action. If Peter Büber failed you, so did I.” She moved slightly, to stand next to the huntmaster, shoulder to shoulder despite the height difference.

  Felix didn’t know what to do. His face was full of confusion, and he looked to Allegretti for support.

  The Italian leant back in his chair. “Did the hexmasters know?”

  “Of course they did. But I’m not a hexmaster. When I left Goat Mountain I was an adept, and the masters didn’t tell us.” She shrugged. “Go and ask them yourself: they’re hardly in a position to turn you away. They can’t do anything any more.”

  “And you are sure about that, signorina?” Allegretti pursed his lips and waited for an answer.

  “Do you think she would be here,” said Büber, “if they could?”

  Nikoleta shushed him by laying her hand on his arm, and spoke first to the whole room: “They would have imprisoned me, or killed me. They would have done anything to prevent me from telling Prince Gerhard that the Order was powerless, and so was the palatinate. They needed the lie to continue: I wasn’t prepared to let that happen.” Then she crouched down in front of Felix, so that her face was close to his. His eyes were wide. “You have to understand that both me, and your father’s huntmaster, did everything to expose the Order’s secret before it was too late.”

  Allegretti reached forward and took up the letter again, scanning Thaler’s precise handwriting. “It says here that the Order might be working on a solution. Is that true?”

  “If the hexmasters were, then, once again, they never told me. I am not a hexmaster.” Nikoleta narrowed her eyes at the Italian. “I repeat, why don’t we go and find out rather than you asking me questions I cannot answer?”

  It was Büber’s turn to lay a hand of warning on her shoulder.

  “I’ve confessed my part in this,” he said. “She had nothing to do with that.” Then he noticed the subtle shift of power. He was now answering to Allegretti, not the prince, who was speechless and swivel-headed, looking from one adult arguing to the next. “My lord, it’s for you to judge.”