The Scrivener's Tale

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘Search your heart until you see it as pure, Brother Cassien,’ Josse had said in parting on the day Cassien had been taken to the forest. ‘You cannot undertake the work of the Brotherhood until you have no conscience about it.’

  ‘How can we take a life coldly and absolve ourselves of any crime, any responsibility, any remorse?’ he’d queried, feeling angry. He recalled his mood well because Brother Josse had snapped at him.

  ‘You don’t absolve yourself. Shar does! But that’s not the point. You take responsibility for the killing because you are safekeeping the Crown and for no other reason. It is the law that guides us.’

  ‘Outside of the priory we’d be put on trial as murderers. Why are we any different?’ he’d argued.

  Josse had regained his patience. His voice had been gentle when he spoke again. ‘Cassien, our work is on behalf of the royals alone. The ancient royal house of Morgravia that absorbed Briavel and the Razor Kingdom to form its new imperial throne decades ago was the seat of the dragon. You understand this, don’t you?’ Cassien had nodded. Of course he knew it. The sovereigns of Morgravia — and only those of royal blood — were linked with the dragon as their motif, the spiritual power that guided their reign. ‘The imperial throne answers only to Shar. Do you understand that too?’

  ‘Of course,’ he’d replied, trying not to sound exasperated.

  ‘Then the work of the Brotherhood, which is exclusively on behalf of the imperial throne, answers to no-one other than the imperial ruler. We are above all other courts or claims. It is not our collective conscience that should be troubled.’

  Josse had made it sound reasonable. Since then — in the short space of not a decade — the empire’s structure had crumbled. The three realms that had been unified had since pulled apart with their quarrels, and now each had local governments and had settled into a loose triumvirate. The imperial throne was still acknowledged as Morgravia but any semblance of empire had fractured. Empress Florentyna had a long road and hard task ahead of her to rebuild what her father had allowed to slip.

  He looked down at the unconscious Zeek. He could still walk away and the man would regain his wits shortly. But he was obliged to protect the Brotherhood as much as himself and Fynch. Besides, he’d already said the Prayer of Sending.

  He smothered the tailor soundlessly. It would look as though the older man’s heart had given out. Cassien quietly overturned a chair to make it appear as though the tailor had simply fallen as his heart failed. He double-checked for any signs that he and Fynch had been in the shop, quickly gathering up the old clothes that Wife Wiggins had supplied and he had discarded. He knew there would be no written record of any of the transactions involving him.

  He left silently via the back door but his mind was already reaching toward the next step of damage control. He found Fynch sitting on a low wall just beyond the alley, his head turned toward the sun. He thought the man was smiling but as he drew closer he saw that Fynch was grimacing.

  The spry old fellow opened his eyes. There was sorrow reflected. ‘Is it done?’

  ‘Yes. No-one will suspect anything other than that his heart gave up.’

  ‘Then our secret is safe.’

  ‘Not quite. There’s a whore. He told her things. I don’t know how much she knows or whether she could even be bothered to pay attention, but I’m not inclined to gamble.’

  ‘A whore,’ Fynch repeated to himself, staring at the ground, although he didn’t seem surprised. ‘Does it end there?’

  ‘I hope so. But there’s more bad news.’

  Fynch looked up.

  ‘Her brothel isn’t local,’ Cassien continued. ‘It’s in Orkyld.’

  Fynch closed his eyes as if in pain.

  ‘We can’t undo it, but we can fix it.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Fynch replied with resolve.

  ‘I think we should ride, rather than take the coach. It will be faster. I can take us on a more direct route through the forest on horseback.’

  ‘Fine. Go to the stables and organise the horses — you have plenty of coin. I will get some supplies.’

  ‘This Wevyr, he’s reliable?’

  Fynch snorted. ‘We have nothing to fear from Wevyr. The brothers Wevyr, in fact. They understand secrecy — were raised on it. I’m afraid your shave and haircut must wait.’

  SEVEN

  As their lips touched, Gabe felt as though he had become entirely disconnected from the world. Most of his senses simply shut down. He could hear the whoosh of his own blood pulsing in his head, nothing else. All the subliminal noises of his apartment — the drone of the fridge, the whirr of his computer, the beep from his coffee machine cycling through its stand-by phases — disappeared. Even the more persistent sounds of the building’s lift, voices from the street, the horns and general groan of traffic … all of it had been silenced.

  Neither could he see his apartment anymore, or anything familiar. What had, at first, been a blank Void began to stir and change: the grey nothingness seemed to swirl and move as though reshaping itself, but even before it had fully formed, he knew what the dreamscape was showing him. He tried to pull back but he was trapped. Angelina’s lips held him, and he was sure if his ability to smell or taste were available to him, he would be surrounded by the fragrance of violets on her breath. The scene continued to sharpen. He wanted to scream but could not.

  He mentally shook his head. Did not want this. Did not want to face the memory of the wreckage of his car because that would mean confronting the wreckage of his wife and son trapped inside. Dying, if not already dead.

  ‘Release me!’ he was sure he pleaded.

  But just as the smell of petrol fumes and the tang of spilled blood assaulted him and he felt a cry of anguish racing to his throat, the scene changed. In a heartbeat, he was in the calm of his cathedral — or so he thought. It felt right, the atmosphere was right, but he saw in the shadow a man.

  It looked as though it could be him but the figure had his head thrown back in agony.

  The link was cut and Gabe snapped back to reality to find himself staring into the smoky eyes of Angelina. Her legs were still wrapped around his hips. She was smiling guiltily, knowingly.

  ‘What did you see?’ she asked, unable to mask the smug tone.

  ‘You … you promised the cathedral.’

  ‘I decided to let you choose and demonstrate just how connected we truly are. You seem upset, Gabe,’ she said softly, sounding offended now as she gently touched his cheek. ‘Are you frightened by the vision?’

  ‘Did you see it too?’

  She nodded. ‘I don’t understand it though — it’s obviously something very personal to you. I smelled petrol. I assume the image was of the motorway accident that killed your family …’ He didn’t want her to say another word about it, and perhaps she sensed this. ‘Who is the man in the second vision?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘He’s your dream.’

  ‘That may be. But I still have no idea.’

  ‘It’s obviously very powerful if it can override not only your nightmare of the accident, but more importantly, what I intended to show you,’ she remarked.

  He frowned at her. ‘What are you?’

  ‘I am what I am. I have skills.’

  ‘Skills,’ he repeated evenly, gently disengaging her arms from his neck. She obliged by releasing her legs and sitting back on the bed. ‘Explain them,’ he said, deliberately getting up and walking away from her.

  ‘I can’t.’ Angelina shrugged, wrapping her arms around her knees, looking like a child again, and uncaring of her nakedness. ‘But it’s a reason why Reynard keeps me under such close guard.’

  Gabe picked up the quill at the mention of Reynard. He stroked the soft swan feather and once again wondered at its significance. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said to her but also to himself about the strange gift.

  ‘No,’ she said in a slightly bored, dismissive tone, ‘but that’s because you’re not really l
istening to me.’ Her expression flared into something simmeringly close to anger, and she got up to pace near him. ‘I am not of this world, Gabe. You should trust that now. How else can I take you into your world of dreams and nightmares? I can take you to the cathedral in your mind palace. But you need to believe me when I tell you that it’s not just a dream or a fiction. It is not of your own mind. It is real. And it’s calling to you.’

  ‘And all I have to do is kill you,’ he said, flatly, his tone now dripping with disdain. ‘Are you aware how your request sounds to any sane person?’

  ‘You see? You don’t respect anything I say.’

  ‘Angelina —’

  ‘Well, Reynard can have me then. That’s his plan. He will kill me and he will travel to Pearlis.’

  ‘Then why did he involve me?’

  ‘He needed your skills to unlock what he believes is my mute mind and make it possible. He’s a fool if he thinks he can outwit me. He’s using you, Gabe, not just to provide “access” to me but making sure he can trust my magic. If you now tell him what you’ve seen, he’ll know it’s Pearlis. But he doesn’t want you to be the one to travel. He wants to go. He will be the one who has your cathedral. And the raven spy will have you!’ she snapped viciously, as she turned away from him.

  It was too convoluted and so little was making sense. He grabbed her, the quill still in his hand. He didn’t want to lose her even though all of this was wrong; everything about Angelina and his relationship with her was wrong and yet he didn’t want it to end — not like this.

  ‘Wait! I need to understand, to know about you.’

  Before he could say another word, she was holding him again, kissing him again; hard this time and angrily. But the sensation of his lips being bitten and bruised disappeared as he was thrust into the frantically busy market square surrounding … no, it was impossible. Impossible! Yet Gabe stared in hungry wonder at the huge doors and the façade of the cathedral he knew so well.

  He felt the instant calm of close proximity to it. It was real. He realised he was walking up to it, desperate to lay his fingers on the stonework but his hand passed through its soft grey shimmering walls. Drifting through the open doors, he found his familiar place. The safe place. He had sat in here so many times in his mind. But it had never been real. Now he could actually feel the worn timber of the pew he sat on, hear the click of the flagstones beneath him, feel the cool of the grey stone around him. It wasn’t imagined. He was actually here! Gabe looked around in awe, but just as his thoughts turned to the famed mythical creatures, he was yanked rudely back to his apartment as Angelina’s lips withdrew from his.

  ‘Do you believe me now?’

  In spite of himself, he nodded, lost for words, staring at her as though she were an alien.

  ‘I can take you there. I can put you physically into the cathedral you yearn for.’

  He shook his head like a child trying to blot out a nagging parent. ‘I built that place. Its architecture is mine! My specifications … simply to please me.’

  ‘No, Gabe! If it was just a product of your imagination, how can I know it so intimately? You have never discussed it with anyone, have you … least of all me?’

  ‘It is private,’ he murmured.

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he bleated, confused, frustrated.

  ‘How can I know exactly the scene of your car pile-up if I was not able to tap into your mind?’

  He shook his head. He could feel a migraine coming on and dropped the swan quill onto the bed. He rubbed at his temples.

  ‘Touch me,’ she demanded, pulling one of his hands to her and placing it on her chest. He could feel her breastbone and her heart thumping. ‘Do I feel real?’

  ‘You are real,’ he answered.

  ‘You’re a sane, smart man, Gabe. You know I’m real so I can’t be in your imagination. Even if you think I’m delusional, you know you’re not. How can I show you what I just have and not be telling you the truth? I have no reason to lie to you.’

  ‘Let me be clear about this … I will not be killing anyone or anything, Angelina,’ he said, flicking her hands away.

  ‘It’s ridiculous!’ he snapped, coming back to himself, regaining his equilibrium. This wasn’t the way to speak to a patient, but then neither was being naked alongside her. He’d broken every sacred rule of being a clinical psychologist.

  Gabe hadn’t realised he’d aired this thought aloud.

  ‘Gabe, I seduced you. You didn’t ask me to do anything that I wasn’t already planning to do with you,’ she said in a soft tone, snuggling close. Angelina had a knack for wrapping herself around him in such a way that he felt owned by her.

  It may have been a hollow reassurance but he was grateful to hear it all the same. Its effect was momentary, though, for he could feel a sinister and familiar sense returning, bringing with it all those old feelings of despair that he’d kept at bay for so long.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she shook him.

  ‘It’s happening again. I’d escaped the accident, rebuilt my life, walked away from it all,’ he said, drawing back from her. He ran a hand through his hair again and stood in his apartment, naked and trembling — but not from the cold.

  ‘Gabe, I can make it all go away.’

  He flicked his gaze to her, filled with mistrust and a new sense of loathing as she offered herself to him. He wished Angelina had never come into his life, but even now, he felt desire stirring. She was impossible to resist … for him, anyway. ‘All I have to do is kill you, right?’ he said scathingly.

  ‘It is my way back.’

  ‘Your way out, more like,’ he sneered.

  ‘Your raven has returned,’ she taunted him, pointing out the window.

  True enough, the bird was there, black as night, staring at him as it perched on his tiny balcony’s railing. It fleetingly occurred to him to wonder precisely how she knew the family of Corvidae. Most people would have called it a crow.

  ‘What does it want?’

  ‘He’s your enemy. He’s keeping you under observation.’

  ‘My enemy,’ he said, with a cold smirk. ‘Now I must fear even the birds. Why is he my enemy, Angelina?’

  ‘He’s following you. It’s his role. He is the observer … the messenger.’

  ‘You’re amazing. Do you just make things up as you go along?’

  ‘You don’t believe me,’ she said, disappointed.

  ‘I know you believe it, and I know how powerful that can be. I’m sorry that I can’t see what you do. I live in Paris, you live in a world of your own making.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  He shrugged. ‘We should never have had sex. It’s my fault —’

  It was Angelina’s turn to laugh and it sounded bitter. ‘I’m not talking about sex, you fool.’ She crawled forward on the bed. ‘I’m talking about knowledge. Things that can’t be explained, like showing you your own dreams.’ Gabe began to shake his head and he could see it infuriated her. ‘All right, what if I told you that in three seconds the phone will start to ring, there will be a banging on the door and you’d —’

  She didn’t finish. His mobile began to vibrate loudly on the kitchen counter and a heartbeat later there was a loud rapping at the door.

  Gabe blinked. ‘How could …?’ he said, staring at the door and then back at her.

  ‘Both are Reynard,’ she said calmly. ‘He knows you’re in here. He will now tell you that he knows I’m here too.’

  ‘I know you have Angelina with you, Gabriel!’ Reynard obliged.

  Gabe stared open-mouthed, astonished.

  ‘He’ll bang again,’ she said. ‘Twice.’ Reynard did just that. ‘I shall have to call in the police,’ she mimicked in his manner.

  ‘I shall have to call in the police,’ Reynard repeated precisely and then simultaneously with Angelina mimicking the gesture, he rapped loudly on the door. ‘Open up!’ she said silently, but in perfect sinister synchronicity with Reynard. It was
as though his deep voice had become hers. Angelina put her hand to her mouth and mimicked a cough in tandem with Reynard. She smiled mirthlessly at Gabe.

  ‘She is trying to escape! Don’t help her, Gabriel,’ Reynard urged, while Gabe watched her mouth forming each word also. It was chilling. How was she doing this?

  ‘How am I doing it?’ she asked, as though she could now hear his thoughts as well as Reynard’s. ‘I have skills that defy your understanding,’ Angelina said, moving toward him as though floating on air. ‘But not his,’ she sneered, pointing at the door. ‘Oh, definitely not. Reynard knows what I’m capable of. He was sent to keep me close, keep me from my mission.’

  Reynard’s banging and the constant vibration and beeping of the phone’s message system began to fade and only Angelina’s voice was clear.

  ‘I was sent to guide you to a place called Morgravia. The bird is your enemy. Reynard was sent to stop you making the journey — he is also our enemy. But you and I must look out for one another. I am your protector, Gabe. I can take you to the cathedral, where I know you feel safe. And because I’m not real in the way you accept, you can’t kill me. It will be like a dreamscape. My death will not be real.’

  She was playing with words. No longer making sense. Hitting all the right buttons to confuse him … his mind was becoming fuzzy. He could still hear Reynard, the phone, now the bird cawing at him. He could see it, flapping outside and leaping at the window. He could hear the thump of its body connecting with the panes of glass, the scratch and tap of beak and claws, as it desperately tried to keep his attention. He was being plunged back into the fear and the loathing, the old terror that haunted him after losing his family. And now here was Angelina handing him a knife. Where did that come from?

  He tried to speak, but it was as though his mouth was suddenly filled with sawdust. His voice had slowed down and sounded deep and robotic, as though a machine was filtering his words. ‘What are you doing?’