“I promise,” said Armand. “When are you meeting?”
“Oh, not for several hours. Let me recommend a rooming house for you, and then you can meet us at Bar Ikuri in the Spires.” Valentin scribbled a name on a piece of paper and passed it to Armand. He stepped back and smiled warmly. “The grandson of my old friend. Splendid.”
As he left the building, Armand relaxed, his body emptying of tension of which he had barely been aware. The flight from the terror of the seditionist uprising, the long journey from Caeli-Amur, only Ice to keep him company, the strange hooded pursuer, the hours of disorientation in the vast city of Varenis … Now he had hope.
* * *
Armand wanted a hidden place to stay, and it would still take some time before he trusted Valentin, so he ignored his recommendation and searched for a rooming house in an area called the Kinarian Pocket, a labyrinth of streets that climbed and descended up over archways and down into subterranean arcades. Tiny bars and rathskellers were scattered here and there. Some of the coffee shops were only holes in the wall, mantelpieces on which to place the coffee. Varenis was larger than Caeli-Amur—its buildings rose massively into the air, the crowds thicker and more impersonal—but this very fact seemed to lead to miniaturization: the exotic gardens, miniature bars, the rooms themselves seemed tiny and compressed.
Eventually he found a little rooming house called the Long Rest, hidden away at the end of a cobblestone cul-de-sac, lit by overhanging red and gold lanterns. He didn’t exactly find its name auspicious, but it seemed appropriate. Armand tied Ice to the post outside and took a few short steps beneath ground level to access the entrance hall.
From a little cubicle in one corner of the hall, the owner looked up over dirty spectacles. He introduced himself gruffly as Tedde. As he showed Armand to his diminutive room, Tedde warmed up, pointing out the built-in wardrobe he had installed himself and the new sleeping mat that stood in for a bed. They boarded Ice in stables at the very end of the cul-de-sac. Tedde looked around the dusty stables. “We don’t have much use for them. But he’ll be safe enough here.”
Armand stroked Ice’s neck. “It’s not much, is it? Not much at all.”
Once back in his room, Armand took out the Prism of Alerion and held it in his hands. The hexagonal prism was the size of a child’s head. The crystal, unmarked by the years, was smooth and cold. The thing seemed heavy now in his hands, though he had noticed that at other times it seemed lighter. Unlike the scrying ball back in Caeli-Amur, which had an intricate mechanism of cogs and wheels at its center, the prism instead contained a misty swirl of fog, occasionally billowing into shapes that suggested something alive and sentient. Armand rarely took it out, for it had a hypnotic quality. Too often he found himself staring into its depths blankly, all thoughts having left his mind. From these fugues he would jolt out suddenly, his heart racing, uncertain of the amount of time that had passed. There was something frightening about the thing, and he avoided it as much as he could, even though it nagged at his thoughts, seemed to be calling to him to look into its foggy heart.
He wrapped it in a jacket and placed it in his carry bag, wondering whether he should carry it everywhere, or if he should hide it here, in his room. With some effort, he pulled up two of the floorboards and hid it beneath them. He replaced the nails that held the floorboards in place, and shifted the sleeping mat back over them. It would be safe there—for a while, at least.
* * *
Armand ventured out with Tedde’s bony eight-year-old daughter, Hedy, a cheerful girl who would not stop asking him questions about Caeli-Amur. She hoped to visit one day. She had never seen the ocean, she said. She imagined it to be the most amazing thing in the world, all that water.
“That’s it,” Hedy said, pointing across to a needle-thin tower among dozens of others—one of the Spires, as the area was called. High up on several balconies, revelers laughed and talked.
As if some voice in his head warned him, Armand looked back in the direction they had come. A couple wandered toward them. Some small animal scuttled along the side of the walkway. In the shadow of a building, Armand caught the glimpse of a figure, just a shadowy form engulfed in darkness. Fear struck his heart once more.
“I have to go.” Armand hurried away, but the figure did not follow him. Once he was in the elevator, he laughed at himself. His imagination had surely got the better of him.
In the tower, an elevator carried him up to an entry hall, its walls glowing the soft blue of the patterned and luminous lichen that covered its walls. The concierge led Armand across the floor, past a circular bar. The tables and chairs all seemed like organic shapes: rounded corners, legs that bent and curved like the stems of plants.
The walls were covered in brilliant green and blue lichens in flowing patterns like waves on the sea that gave off a faint light.
In an isolated section away from the main floor, three men lounged on long chairs made from some kind of sponge. Valentin and Dominik reclined near each other. Another huge man with a shaved head sat a little away from them, exhibiting slightly more energy and vigilance in his posture. His delicately trimmed beard—sculpted so its edges were sharp and geometric—suggested a man of fastidious habits. Yet there was something of the bon vivant about him; he gazed at his drink the way a lover gazes at their amour.
The concierge gestured toward Armand. “Officiate Lecroisier from Caeli-Amur for you, Controller Valentin.”
Valentin looked up warmly. “Ah, here he is!”
The corpulent man spoke with exaggerated politeness. “Welcome, Officiate Lecroisier. I’m Controller Rainer from the Department of Satisfaction.”
“A busy department, I’m guessing,” said Armand.
The others laughed politely, and Armand realized that the joke was probably well-worn.
A second later Armand sat, holding a thin flute of blue flower-liquor as if he were part of the Directorate himself. The liquor was sickly sweet, unlike the wines he was used to in Caeli-Amur. He grimaced as he sipped it. Everything in Varenis seemed exaggerated: too sweet or too sour, too large or too small, too dark or too light.
Valentin smiled genially. “We’ve just been convincing Rainer here that we should pursue a policy of appeasement toward Caeli-Amur. These seditionists are well organized, are they not, Armand? We can’t simply walk into the city and take it without a savage engagement.”
Armand blinked, feeling unsure of his footing. “Really, it is the tyranny of the mob that runs wild and free, and then there’s a small highly organized group that has taken advantage of these affairs—hard, cold, calculating types. But it’s true: they will not give up without a fight. Who would have thought they could have overthrown the Houses? And Caeli-Amur is surrounded by walls, so any assault would result in grievous losses.”
“Rumors have spread that they have the thaumaturgists on their side,” said Valentin. “Again, another reason not to jump hastily into war.”
“Rumors,” Rainer said obliquely, eyes twinkling and a smirk seemingly planted on his face. It was unclear whether he was suggesting that there weren’t any rumors at all, or that he disbelieved them.
“The Department of Satisfaction should take more interest in external affairs,” said Valentin.
Rainer shifted his huge bulk. The sponge beneath him squeaked. “Oh, we’re happy to focus on the roads and the railways—people respect, first and foremost, everyday things done right.”
They broke into laughter for some reason Armand couldn’t fathom. Dominik laughed a little too loudly until Valentin gave him a withering look.
Valentin then said, “You’re a clever man, Rainer. You know where the truth lies, and now you’ve heard what Armand has to say. The capture of Caeli-Amur would bring about too much bloodshed. Varenis cannot afford to pay such a cost. Think of the drain on our resources. Already the legions are overstretched, fighting the barbarians in the northwest.”
Rainer touched his finely shaped beard and said in a serious tone, �
�But that’s not what it’s really about is it, Valentin?”
“Of course that’s what it’s about. I’m a patriot.” Valentin’s eyes narrowed with a flash of anger.
“You’re not even from Varenis,” said Rainer.
“The Empire allows all its subjects equal status.” Valentin took a sip of his drink, then looked away as if he were bored.
“Let’s not play these games.” Rainer finished his own drink and looked at it longingly.
There was silence as Armand tried to gauge the direction of the conversation. Things had become hard to follow, the words spoken with inflections he could not comprehend and filled with mysterious import. He thought about revealing his possession of the prism. That would surely sway Rainer. And yet a feeling of vulnerability kept him silent.
Valentin’s birthmark took on an uncomfortable redness. “Anyway, you’re partly right. I was born in Caeli-Amur. I still harbor a care toward it. I miss it, even. You should journey there, Rainer—I’ll take you one day. The white cliffs, the vast sea, the cafés and philosophy … it would be wrong to ruin all that with war.”
Rainer shifted himself onto his side and faced Armand. “So, Armand, tell me. Are these seditionists corruptible? Can we starve them first and then buy them off later? Would the golden coin light up their idealistic eyes? If so, Valentin might just have me on his side, after all. We would share the profits, wouldn’t we, Valentin? The Department of Benevolence and Satisfaction united.”
Armand pressed his lips together momentarily. He felt Valentin looking at him expectantly. He tried to form the words, but Armand could not lie; he simply didn’t have it in him. Perhaps it was one of his failings, but principles were all one had. “Starvation might work. They might compromise, but I think there is little chance of corruption among their leaders. They are bound too closely to their ideals.”
Rainer looked at Valentin triumphantly. “You see.”
Valentin closed his eyes slowly, perhaps in disappointment.
Armand leaned forward, seizing the chance to speak. “Varenis has perfected the art of keeping all things in their right places. The reason is simple: you have one central authority, the Directorate, which is able to mediate between competing factions. In Caeli-Amur, the Houses were forever at one another’s throats. A benign central authority like the Directorate is what we must impose on Caeli-Amur.”
Rainer shook his head. “No, it seems to me that the belligerents have more reason on their side.” He stood up. “It’s nice that you bring these”—he glanced at Armand—“exotic provincials as garnish, but until you can offer me something of actual value, well … until then.”
Rainer heaved himself up from his chair, took one last look at his empty glass, and ambled away.
“He was our only chance, Valentin!” said Dominik. “The others are unmovable. They’ve built their reputations as belligerents. It’s him or no one.”
Valentin sighed. “We’ll have to get him another way then. I suppose that’s it, then.”
“Shall we find some Trid-Girls?” Dominik ran his hand over the side of his head with long hair. “I feel like—”
“Not tonight, Dominik,” said Valentin. “It’s my party in a few days—you will come, won’t you, Armand? Why, yes, you must!” Valentin rested his clenched hand on his knee. “You simply must.”
“I’m sorry I failed you, Valentin,” said Armand. “Failed us.”
Valentin put his hand on Armand’s knee. “Not at all, my boy. You spoke your mind. Rainer isn’t a lost cause yet. He’ll be at the party. We can convince him there.”
They went out to the walkway and said good-bye. Armand immediately looked for the figure stalking him, but there was no philosopher-assassin in sight. He knew he had imagined the whole thing.
As he walked away, he heard Dominik whisper to Valentin, “You’re not really going to adopt this man, are you?”
“Why not?” Valentin said. “His grandfather and I were the best of friends.”
Dominik laughed cynically. “Yes, yes, of course.”
FIVE
Maximilian knew he was in the clutches of a dream. Still he twisted, turned, reached out. The tall robed figure was chasing him through a dark forest. Winter had stripped the trees of their foliage, and they now appeared as ghostly sentinels surrounded by ominous fog. Panic gripped him. He stumbled along overgrown paths, brushes clawing at him, roots tripping him, but he knew he had to continue on, for the thing behind him was a horror he could not face. It meant annihilation.
Exhausted, he finally tripped. The dark robed figure stood above him, a wicked knife in its hand. Max looked up from where he lay. Fear froze his limbs. Beneath the figure’s hood, Max saw his own face, cold and dreadful.
Every night it was the same. Even when he knew it was a dream, he felt the same fear as he ran, the same horror at seeing the figure stand over him; he felt the same agony as the figure slipped the knife under his skin and drew out his bloody and still-beating heart.
Max had first seen these terrible images in the terror-spheres of House Technis’s dungeons. Then he had been awake, his mind providing the material for the sphere to work on. The visions had stuck with him, sunk deeper into the recesses of his mind, only to burst forth each night until he awoke in the morning, disturbed and fearful.
Like now, as he rolled onto his back and stared up into the darkness of the cavern.
Good morning, a voice said in his head.
—Go back to sleep—said Max to the voice.
I awake when you do, and sleep when you do. If you want me to sleep, you need to go back to sleep.
Max clenched his teeth. Was the voice really the memory of the joker god Aya that he had somehow allowed into his head in the Great Library of Caeli-Enas, the Sunken City? He knew now there had been no gods: the ancients had been people, just like the rest of them. After the cataclysm, they had seemed as gods to those remaining in the broken world.
Max shielded his reflections from the voice, but he felt it probing at him, trying to uncover those thoughts. He slapped Aya away. —Leave me alone.
The voice retreated to a marginal place somewhere inside him.
Max sat up and looked around the Communal Cavern that had been the seditionist hideout before House Technis raided the place. In the lamplight, the place was dark, shadowy. To one side, doors opened like black maws in the gloom. One of the geometrical rooms inside had been Max’s workshop, where he had taught others thaumaturgy; another room had housed Ejan’s workshop, where he had built explosive devices. All that was left was strewn across the ground, like flotsam on the shore after a storm: ragged clothes, broken glass, bloody stains where seditionists had died.
Max could barely remember the sequence of events: dragging his air-cart along the watery boulevards of Caeli-Enas, crabs scuttling along the cobblestones, fish darting around his feet, and the leviathan—the thought of it sent shudders into him—waiting there for him, spying him with its hundreds of roving eyes, ready to wrap him in its deadly tentacles. Then the conversation with the sentient Library beneath the oceans; the deal he made with Aya to escape the underwater world. From there the memories became even more fragmented: snatches in the ultramarine and emerald of the underwater world; bursting from the waters, gasping for air under the glittering lights of Caeli-Amur; staggering back to the seditionist base, this awful second personality in his head. Kata had looked down at him—Kata! The thought of her charged him with surprising emotion—then the House Technis guards had arrived, and he’d been dragged off to the dungeons.
Don’t forget: I provided you with the knowledge to swim through the water, said Aya.
The headache grew like a little tumor in Max’s head. His memories were half ruined. At times they weren’t even his own. Every now and again pieces of him broke away and merged with Aya; at other times, fragmentary memories from times long gone flashed into his mind, and he realized they had come from Aya.
—I wish I’d never allowed you into my head
, not for all the thaumaturgical sciences in the world—Max thought.
Aya laughed. You’re only saying that. Who wouldn’t want me inside them?
Nearby, Max’s oldest friend, Omar, lay asleep, his scarred face like that of a small injured animal. Both of them had been in bad shape after the raid, and at first Max could not leave Omar’s side. Once the worst had passed, Max’s mood had kept him in the hideout. Some part of him feared rejoining the seditionists, facing up to the failure of his mission to the Sunken City. He had dreamed he would be a leader of the overthrow of the Houses, but it had occurred without him. How stupid he had been! He saw now that his arrogance had blinded him to real events, to the real structures of power. Defeat lay heavy on him, and yet he was still committed to seditionism: he still cared for the lost and the dispossessed. He cared for slaves taken against their will, for the orphans in the factory quarter, and for the workers broken by brutal conditions. These things still filled him with anger, and now that his egotism had been stripped away, that anger burned more purely.
Max picked up a pouch of florens that the seditionists had hidden in the cave before the raid. He counted them briefly: there were enough to last several weeks, even with the inflation that had gripped the city in the face of shortages. He then left Omar and walked along the pathway to the city, emerging high up on the mountain on which the city was perched. Max drew a deep breath, amazed once more by the sight. For a moment it seemed like nothing had changed. Two headlands reached out to either side like arms reaching out into the sea. By the docks, far away, he could spy the Opera building and Market Square. Beyond them, the wide blue ocean sparkled in the light, a multitude of whitecaps as far as Max could see. Out there beneath the waves lay the Sunken City.
Caeli-Amur had changed subtly, though. There was less smoke pumping from the factory quarter that lay between him and the Northern Headland. There were fewer steam-trams on the busy streets. He sensed some molecular change in the atmosphere, a tension that hung over the city and the figures moving around it.
The Stars Askew Page 5
