The door stood ajar, its new second lock beaten off. A light shone through the opening, falling on his dusty shoes. Adewole angled himself to see without being seen. Papers were scattered everywhere; ancient, irreplaceable books lay open face-down on the floor, their brittle pages crumpled and crumbling. A man's unmoving legs jutted from under the work table. Perhaps Mr. Buckan had been taken ill and swept the books and papers off the desk in his fall? Adewole threw open the door and hurried around his work table.
There on the floor lay William Buckan, eyes open. He might have swept off the desk in his fall, but the clotting blood from his slit throat told a different story. Blood covered the Dumastran carpet; the scattered books and papers soaked in it. Adewole's hand shook as he closed Buckan's eyes. "Gods bless him," he quavered.
"Going back to the old ways, Ollie? Or perhaps it's a new god you pray to," said a quiet voice.
Adewole stood up too quickly; his head crashed full force into the corner of his worktable, and he fell back to the blood-soaked carpet. Swooning pain streamed from his crown, and he blinked at the sparkling white filling his vision as he struggled to remain conscious. "Karl?" he croaked at last.
"It's me," said Deviatka.
Someone must go to the Guard, but he couldn't walk--couldn't see. "Fetch Ansel," Adewole moaned. The room swam in dizzying, swirling patterns like odd-metal.
"What looks like odd-metal, old thing?" said Deviatka.
Adewole realized he was speaking aloud, not to himself. "Who could have done this to Buckan?" he whispered through his nausea. "When did you find him?"
"He was going through your papers. He didn't find what he was looking for, though. Neither did I--well, I didn't find everything I was looking for."
The sparkling white receded enough to reveal Deviatka leaning against the now-closed door--or rather, two Deviatkas; Adewole's vision refused to resolve. "I do not understand. He was alive?" said Adewole.
"Please don't play the confused academic, Ollie, it makes us all look bad."
"I am not playing." Adewole put his hand to his head and pulled it back wet and sticky. "Karl, what have you done?"
"Buckan and I struck a deal. I brought him the material blessings of Eisenstadt and he was to bring me your translations, but he didn't move fast enough for me."
Adewole retched at last, overcome with horror and pain. "You? You killed him?"
"Shall I spell it out? Really?"
"So you will kill me now?"
"I hope not to. I like you very much. You're a good man, a good friend--this whole business is nothing personal," he said, his tone deceptively light, almost jaunty. "You just have something I need, and I know you won't give it to me willingly. And you might have hidden the translations, after all. You can't tell me where they are with a cut throat."
If he concentrated hard Adewole might resolve the two Deviatkas he saw into one, but so far his concentration refused to cooperate. "I cannot give them to you, Karl. I have sworn never to let this Machine God be rebuilt."
"Sworn to whom--to this?" The two Deviatka images each brought a cube from its satchel; a familiar red glow filled the room.
"Alleine," cried Adewole. "How did you know to find her here?"
"Owls may be discreet, but other birds aren't. I set a spy on you for your pilgrimage to the Ossuary. I took a little trip there myself yesterday and found the shrine. Found some other things, too, but you don't need to know about them. This," he said, waggling Alleine, "wasn't in the shrine and it wasn't in your room, so obviously you hid it here."
"I have the translations. His death gains you nothing." Adewole's voice sounded thick to his own ear.
"It gives me a little convenient chaos, once you and I make a deal."
"I don't like this man, Ollie, he's like Master," cried Alleine in the old language of Cherholtz. Panic, terror, more than a touch of madness filled her childish voice. "You said you'd keep me safe!"
"Child, I never thought--" said Adewole.
"He gave me ichor, you said I was away from the Black Spring, you lied, you lied!"
"He is not Vatterbroch, I swear to you. Deviatka," said Adewole, switching tongues, "you must give her to me. She is of no use to you. The Machine God has been scattered to the winds, you cannot reassemble it. Even if you did somehow, you have no way of controlling her, and you cannot understand one another. She is a child--with so much power, she is dangerous!" Tears of desperation and pain trickled down Adewole's face.
"I found the most grisly thing in the Ossuary, you can't imagine. A lyre made of bones, bones the size of a child's." Deviatka's voice grew mocking and hard-edged, pushing Adewole's concussion further into his brain. "I bribed Buckan to let me in here, Ollie, while you were gone spelunking. I know everything. He wouldn't let me take your papers and I didn't have time to copy them. But oh, what interesting reading! Imagine my dismay when I came back this morning to find a new lock on the door and the translations missing--what a suspicious old thing you are! Imagine my delight, though, upon finding this," said Deviatka, hefting the cube again.
Adewole's pain insisted he lie down, but he forced his left arm to continue propping him up. "Listen to me, the plans contain steps to put your own consciousness into the Machine God's body--you do not need her. You can put yourself into the body and live forever. That was Vatterbroch's entire aim, Alleine was just a step on the way!"
Deviatka stood up straighter, or at least Adewole thought he did; he'd split in two again. His sight dimmed, and nausea pressed against the backs of his eyes. "Really. You never said that. I might live forever?"
"Yes! Give me Alleine, and I will give you the combination to the trunk in my room. The translation and the original are all there, I swear to you. Just give her back!"
"I believe you this time. Alleine, eh? You care so much for this little box you named it?"
"It is her name. That box holds the spirit of a child, Karl, a murdered child. The bones for the Lyre you found were taken from her still-living body."
Deviatka's voice took on a melancholy tone. "Sad, very sad indeed, but her sacrifice is ancient history--it means nothing to me, but if you're telling the truth and I can take her place…" He held out the heart. "Tell me where the plans and translations are, and I will give you this so-called child."
"Give her to me first." Deviatka put Alleine's prison into Adewole's hands. "It's all right, Alleine, I have you now," he crooned to the cube, though he realized after a few hazy moments he'd spoken in Jerian. "The plans are in the trunk at the foot of my bed. It is locked," he said in Rhendalian.
"The combination?" said Deviatka, his tight, strained voice far too close. He made Adewole recite it three times. "In your state I doubt you'd have the presence of mind to maintain a lie three times in quick succession."
A hand pulled back Adewole's head by the hair, and a knife slid white-hot across his throat. He dropped Alleine and clutched at the open wound, blood gushing over his hands. "I'm sorry, Oladel, I truly am," said Deviatka as black descended on Adewole, "but I don't want to live forever in a metal body. I just want to live the way I was meant to."
"No, stop," cried Alleine, "stop bleeding, Ollie, stop bleeding!"
The last things Adewole heard before the black descended on him were Alleine's sobs and Deviatka's departing footsteps echoing through the Library's stacks.
Chapter Fourteen
Eisenstadt, Oktober 13th
Adewole woke up. His throat burned inside and out, and his nose was rubbed raw. He lay not on the floor but on something soft and yielding. His head still ached, but only when he moved--and movement was difficult. His arms, his legs, all of him moved as if he struggled against a strong current pushing him down toward blackness. "Water," he croaked.
"He said something," said a voice nearby. Adewole forced his eyes to slit open. The voice's owner came into hazy view above him: a middle-aged woman in the blue-and-white stripes of a nurse, her graying hair caught back in a voluminous white kerchief. "Professor, can you
hear me? I can't understand you."
"He's speaking in Jerian, he asked for water," said a more cultured, charmingly dry voice, a woman older than the first.
The nurse pressed a water-soaked cloth to his lips. He tried to turn his head toward the other woman, but something kept his head and neck in place. The nurse placed a cool, restraining hand on his forehead. "Professor Adewole, you cannot move your head, please stay still until the doctor comes and sees you. You must not move. I'll wring the water into your mouth--don't worry, I'll give you more."
The water revived him enough to speak; the words tore through his raw throat, and his voice creaked like an old house settling on a windy night. "Where am I?"
"You are in Founder's Hospital, Professor," said the cultured voice. A lined but serene face appeared above him. Pale, keen blue eyes, silver hair in a graceful pile: Cecile Faber, the Eisenstadt Minister of State. "You've been asleep for some time for your own good. You were gravely injured. Keeping you sedated meant less chance of you re-injuring yourself."
"Your nose and throat will feel a little sore for a while, sir, we had a feeding tube down into your stomach to keep you hydrated," said the nurse.
"Do you remember what happened?" said Minister Faber.
What had happened? He'd hit his head, badly. He'd lost something very important. Someone? No, two someones-- "Someone cut my throat," he rasped. The nurse put the wet cloth to his mouth again.
"Who?" said Faber. Her professional mien did not disguise her anxiety. "It's very important you tell me who."
The nurse squeezed the cloth again, and as he swallowed he tried to remember. Lady of the River. "Deviatka. Karl Deviatka."
"Nonsense!" exploded a voice that must belong to Henrik Blessing. "Deviatka slit someone's throat? He's my protegé, a professor of engineering!"
Adewole made a conscious effort to relax; he was tensing his shoulders and neck, and it hurt. "He does not speak so highly of you, sir," he said.
"Impudence, impertinence," muttered Blessing, though the words carried far less conviction than usual.
Minister Faber ignored him. "Your rooms on Inselmond have been ransacked, and Deviatka has disappeared. Did he kill William Buckan?"
In his mind's eye, the librarian's staring eyes and the blood-soaked carpet appeared. "Yes."
"Why?"
Mr. Buckan had not been entirely innocent but he didn't deserve to be murdered, and Deviatka deserved whatever was coming to him for Buckan's death. Deviatka's betrayal ached as much as the wounds he'd inflicted. Nevertheless, Adewole hesitated. To tell the story exposed Alleine to the Dean's greed. If the Vatterbroch manuscript could drive Karl Deviatka to homicide, what might it do to someone as venal as Henrik Blessing?
"Professor," said Minister Faber, "you must tell me. I know you and Deviatka are close friends, and it must be difficult to speak of this--"
"It is not that--not that at all. I would speak of it in confidence, though, Madam Faber. Might we have the room to ourselves?"
Faber straightened, leaving his view. Adewole recognized the efficient Trinke's crisp voice as he bundled the protesting Blessing out of the room, and then all grew silent. "We are alone, Professor," she said in Jerian. "Please, much hangs on your story, much more than your friendship with Karl Deviatka."
"He's no longer my friend," croaked Adewole, relieved to be speaking a language few eavesdroppers might understand. He began with Deviatka's resentment of Henrik Blessing; Minister Faber confirmed Dean Blessing's love of money was well-known. "Then perhaps when I've explained fully, you might understand why I couldn't speak of this before the Dean. I found a manuscript, Madam Minister, containing plans of such great import I doubted myself once I'd translated it. You've heard there's magic on Risenton?"
"So the communiqués from Ambassador Weil have said. Since we are sharing secrets, I shall tell you one of mine: there is magic here in Eisenstadt, too. That is for another time, when you are rested and well. I can see from your expression you wish to hear all, and I promise I will tell you all--in confidence, as you are confiding in me. Go on."
He recounted as best he could Heicz Vatterbroch's hideous experiments on the child Alleine, the manuscript detailing the Machine God's creation, and the danger the world faced if Deviatka succeeded in rebuilding the God. "Alleine still lives, ma'am, trapped in the Machine God's heart, and the pieces of the God's body still exist. Deviatka won't have to re-forge them. They can't be destroyed, they're in use all over the island. They call it odd-metal."
By now, Adewole's voice had nearly given out, though Minister Faber had fed him water throughout. His voice had dropped to a whisper, as had his strength, but he continued on, desperate to tell the story and somehow retrieve Alleine. "Karl has the original, my translations and the heart. He will surely attempt to rebuild the God--he said as much. I guessed he might, but I wouldn't let myself believe it. Major Berger must begin a search for Deviatka and secure as much of the odd-metal as he can find. It'll be a difficult task. The pieces are precious to the Risentoners. Councilman Eichel's chain of office is made of it." Adewole's eyelids drooped, so heavy they pressed down on his eyes; tears leaked from their corners. "I'm so tired."
Minister Faber squeezed his hand. "Sleep now. Even when it ends, heavy sedation makes one oddly tired."
"I can't sleep," he murmured, "I have to go back. I have to find Alleine. I promised her. I have to destroy the manuscript." He began to fade.
"That remains to be seen," said Minister Faber. "We will talk about what to do with the manuscript later. You cannot go anywhere in this condition. Sleep now."
He slept.
When Adewole woke again he felt almost human. The nurses had removed the restraints around his head, and he gingerly turned toward the window and its view of the city and Lake Sherrat. In the distance floated Risenton. "I have to go back," he murmured.
"You're not going anywhere," said Siegfried Ansel from the doorway. He entered the room, put his stethoscope to his ears, and listened to the arteries in Adewole's neck. "A damn close thing, Professor," he said as he checked his patient's pulse points. "I'm still surprised you didn't bleed out before we found you. Let me help you sit up, there's a good man."
Adewole's almost-recovered voice still rubbed raw on the ear. "Why did I not?"
Doctor Ansel examined the stitches in Adewole's neck. "You'll have a scar, you know. Did my best, but a cut like that--tchk." He straightened. "I honestly don't know why you didn't bleed out. You should have. Your attacker--I don't think he knew what he was doing, or he hesitated. That helped, but you just didn't seem to bleed much until we got there, and I have no idea why."
Adewole knew: Stop bleeding, Ollie, stop bleeding! Even though she believed he'd betrayed her, she'd saved him. He had to get to her somehow.
"Is it true Karl Deviatka did this to you?" said Doctor Ansel. "That doesn't help the mission on Risenton much. The locals think you and William Buckan caught Eisenstadt soldiers looting the Library and they attacked you. We were hoping to hear something different, that a local did it."
"I am sorry I cannot oblige."
"I'm sorry about Deviatka. I thought you two were friends."
Deviatka had been in the military. He had to have known what he was doing--he'd cut Buckan's throat neatly. Yet he'd hesitated cutting Adewole's throat. A friend indeed, Adewole reflected. Aloud, he said, "I did as well. Is Major Berger searching for him?"
"I imagine he's tearing the island apart. He wants that ancient weapon Deviatka's got before he sells it to the highest bidder. You know all about it or I wouldn't say anything. Otherwise the whole thing's quite secret. No one up top even knows Deviatka's our suspect, they just think he's missing in connection with your case. The rumor is, he's dead and his body's been thrown over the side, but we know better, eh? Berger tells me he's quite put out with you for not bringing your project to him sooner."
A sick chill settled around Adewole's heart. "I will make it up to him somehow--the translations were not fini
shed, Deviatka is acting prematurely. How long have I been in hospital?"
"Oh, a week or so. I'd like to keep you a few days longer."
A week! Deviatka could easily have acquired many of the Machine God's pieces in a week's time, and every second brought Major Berger closer to Alleine and the Vatterbroch manuscript. "Listen, Siegfried. I do not have a few days. I need to return to Risenton as soon as possible."
Doctor Ansel looped his stethoscope around his neck. "Absolutely not. I am your doctor and I'm grounding you. If it makes you feel any better, as long as you're grounded, I am too. I came down with you--I had to, you started bleeding again as soon as I examined you and I had to stay with you. Miss Goldstein flew a gyro right to the spot and brought you straight here."
"How did you know I needed help, or even where I was?"
"That crazy owl of yours. Volemaster?"
"Volekiller Daughter of Mouseterror. Ofira," smiled Adewole.
"She came tearing into my clinic and set up a fuss until the translator told me what she was saying. I've picked up a lot of the local lingo, but the birds still elude me. I can't always understand them here, either, and I grew up here. Awkward for a biologist. At any rate, she kept repeating she had a 'notion' you were in trouble and we must come quickly."
"Owls get notions, yes. If they get one about you, I suggest you listen."
"Believe me, I will. I share your frustration--so much to learn and everyone else is getting the first shot at it while we're stuck here! That old bat Lumburgher has closed off access to the Library, at any rate. If she ever lets anyone in again, it'll be you." Doctor Ansel twiddled the stethoscope's right earpiece. "I'm itching to get back up there myself, Oladel. I cannot tell you the number of nondescript species. The place is crawling with them. But we're not going back up until I'm happy with your condition. You're healing well, but you're not ready to leave the hospital let alone the ground. When you are, we'll both go back up, though I'd rather see you take a long rest. You cracked your noggin a good one, too." He stood up and headed for the door.
The Machine God (The Drifting Isle Chronicles) Page 14
