The Liar's Knot

by M. A. Carrick

  Heading for the townhouse, she said, “Not that. Business of my own, and tricky enough that I need both Tanaquis and the two of you to help untangle it.”

  “At this rate, we’re going to have trouble keeping up the pretense that we’re at each other’s throats.”

  They could stage some kind of hostility, but the prospect made Ren tired. She was already playing with three decks of secrets; she didn’t need to add a fourth. “Giuna’s working on pulling the fangs from anything Sostira might dig up on me. I say we behave as normal, and let people assume I forgave you after you sank her attack in the Charterhouse.” It was only off by a day or two.

  Inside the townhouse, Zlatsa waved them upstairs with a surly mutter of “Unless you want to wait in the parlour until dusk.” Her scowl softened when Vargo handed her two deciras and instructed her to bring refreshments from the nearest ostretta.

  Compared to her odd behavior at Renata’s last visit, today Tanaquis was practically sedate. Perched like an owl on a rung of her bookshelf ladder, she looked as though she’d gotten caught up in reading and hadn’t bothered to finish her descent. She lost her balance when Vargo cleared his throat, and would have toppled if he hadn’t lunged forward to steady her. The book hit the floor with a thud. Tanaquis shook off Vargo’s hold and scrambled to retrieve it.

  “Don’t worry about me!” She carefully smoothed out the pages, checking them for damage. They were old enough to crumble at the edges, and she clicked her tongue. “I really should make a copy of this to preserve the original.”

  ::Is that Mirscellis’s Mundum Praeterire? How did she come by that? I spent a small fortune acquiring mine.::

  The other reason for not continuing the pretense of estrangement was that Renata wasn’t sure she could maintain her icy facade while listening to Alsius’s ramblings. It was only a pity that Tanaquis couldn’t hear him, too; the pair of them would have gotten on like the Dežera in flood.

  With the book’s well-being secured, Tanaquis blinked at her visitors. “Did we have an appointment? I’m afraid now isn’t a good time.”

  She sounded more irritated than upset, but it still gave Renata pause. “Is something wrong?”

  “Utrinzi said…” Tanaquis made an impatient noise. “It seems the Rook paid Eret Simendis a visit yesterday. How that man—if indeed he is a man—found out so much about the Praeteri I don’t know, but I got dragged into the Charterhouse for a tongue-lashing such as I’ve not had since childhood. His Worship is very upset that I didn’t inform him more thoroughly about the nature of the numinatrian work our circle conducts.”

  Vargo managed something like a sympathetic expression, but silently he asked, ::Did you send him, Ren? Never mind—you can’t answer that.::

  “Oh dear,” Renata said. “Is he simply angry that he didn’t know, or—”

  “He’s determined to break the cult up.” Tanaquis laid the book gently down. “I’ll miss it, I suppose… but I’ve learned all I can, and it seems most of the members were using our arts quite irresponsibly. He instructed me to talk to you, Vargo.”

  That sudden swerve made his eyebrows rise. “Am I under arrest for being part of the cult?”

  “No, you’re to do the breaking. He wants as many other members as possible arrested, preferably in the midst of a ritual. I have a charter for you here somewhere—Ah! There it is.” She fished a packet out from under an astrological chart, held shut by the seven-star seal of Iridet. As Vargo accepted it, she added, “Apparently you come recommended by the Rook.”

  The sound that slipped from him suggested he might be choking on his own tongue. Tanaquis thumped him absently on the back and turned to Renata. “I remember now. Yes, you did ask to meet at this hour. Why is Vargo here?”

  “Because this may require both your minds—and because he and I have mended our rift.”

  Tanaquis looked like she was scribbling notes inside her own head. “Interesting. Perhaps not all the effects are negative ones.”

  “Effects?” Vargo paused in the act of stowing Iridet’s charter in his satchel.

  “That’s what I need to discuss with you.” Renata gave him the same explanation she’d given Tanaquis, about the numinatrian jewelry she’d lost in the dream.

  Halfway through the recital, Alsius said, ::I read her testimony when we were investigating her sleeplessness. Wasn’t she supposedly in Seteris, having nightmares about being her mother’s maidservant?::

  Vargo leaned forward to pour the tea Zlatsa had brought, concealing from Tanaquis’s view the smile tugging at his lips. ::Perhaps we might hear the true tale later.::

  While Renata went on, Tanaquis set a number of small cakes on her plate in an order comprehensible only to her. By the time Renata finished, she still hadn’t eaten any of them; she was too eager to add her own thoughts. “Under normal circumstances, I’d merely be curious about a numinatrian piece falling into the realm of mind. But the evidence suggests this is a piece of some power, or something in the realm of mind acts as a great amplifier. Or both.”

  ::That explains the Mirscellis.::

  “That explains the Mirscellis,” Vargo echoed.

  Eyes bright, Tanaquis asked, “Oh, you’ve read it?”

  “I’ve heard summaries.” His drawl left Renata in no doubt as to whom those summaries came from.

  Before Tanaquis could embark on what looked to be a lengthy exploration of numinatrian history, Renata said, “She believes that my jewelry being in the realm of mind is affecting all of Nadežra—to the city’s detriment. Which is why I’m hoping the two of you can tell me how to get it out of there again.”

  Tanaquis swiped the icing off the top of a cake and licked it thoughtfully from her finger. “Nadežra. Hmmm. Have either of you heard of similar problems elsewhere? Through your trade connections and such?” When Vargo and Renata exchanged glances and shook their heads, she said, “That suggests the medallion might actually be here, instead of in Seteris. We know the realm of mind has denizens—spirits and the like; perhaps they’ve moved it. How fascinating!”

  ::Fascinating, indeed!::

  “As fascinating as this all is,” Vargo said in a tone as dry as next-day bread, “I’m more interested in how we retrieve it. Mirscellis only ever traveled in spirit.”

  “You brought back Renata’s prismatium mask,” Tanaquis pointed out.

  “And I still don’t know how.”

  The pinch of Tanaquis’s mouth said she still didn’t find that a satisfying answer. Diverting her, Renata said, “I lost the pendant under more or less the same conditions as the mask. Perhaps a spirit journey like Vargo’s could bring it back the same way? Even if we don’t understand how.”

  She couldn’t follow half of the flurry of conversation that followed, even the parts where Vargo repeated Alsius’s interjections. The general consensus, however, seemed to be that nobody thought it likely. Not with that fragment of her spirit no longer present in the dream.

  “There are other possibilities, though,” Tanaquis said, brightening as she turned to Renata. “Vraszenians call the realm of mind ‘Ažerais’s Dream,’ and there does seem to be some connection with pattern. Perhaps we could experiment more with using cards as secondary foci. Is there one you’d recommend for this purpose?”

  Of course she saw this as an opportunity to further her research into the intersection of pattern and numinatria. Renata sighed. “Yes… but unfortunately, it’s out of the question.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s one of the clan cards I told you about—the ones that fell out of use. And it wouldn’t simply be a matter of finding a copy. It was the Ižranyi card, and according to the stories, all copies of it went blank when the clan died.” Nobody knew why, but they assumed it was a consequence of the Primordial horror that obliterated the people. “That’s why the clan cards are rarely used these days, even though the other six survive.”

  Tanaquis drew breath, no doubt to dive into the sinkhole of mystery Renata’s words had just ope
ned. Vargo’s words snagged her by the collar. “What about ash?”

  It was the obvious answer. Aža let a person see into the dream, but ash let them interact with it physically. Tanaquis had mentioned it before; Renata had known it would come up again.

  Even braced for it, she couldn’t hide the shudder that went through her at the thought.

  “I do have access to Iridet’s confiscated samples,” Tanaquis said slowly. “And Renata traveled there bodily on a double dose—”

  “I meant myself,” Vargo said. “Using something like the numinat in the Great Amphitheatre. I crawled across the whole thing and made extensive notes afterward; I think they’re enough to let us re-create a similar effect. So long as we’re not stupid enough to leave out a proper containing circle and don’t use the fucking wellspring as a focus, it should be safe.” Taking in Tanaquis’s offended look, Vargo cleared his throat. “Apologies for the language.”

  “I don’t care about your fucking language,” Tanaquis said, with a crisp precision at odds with her profanity. “But copying that numinat…”

  The way she trailed off was all too familiar. Finally, with grudging respect, she said, “It makes sense.”

  Vargo looked smug. Renata threw cold water on that by saying, “If no other plan will work, then so be it. But I’m the one who lost the pendant. I will retrieve it.”

  She didn’t want to. She would have preferred to pull out her own fingernails and salt the wounds afterward.

  But Vargo didn’t know what the medallion was. If he took it…

  “I concur,” Tanaquis said briskly, cutting off Vargo’s protest. “Given your respective birth dates, Tricat’s associations, and Renata’s previous connection with this piece, she has a greater chance of success.”

  ::You could always lie about your birthday again.:: Alsius’s snide comment to Vargo made Renata choke on her tea.

  Tanaquis swept the food aside to lay a sheet of paper on the table, and she and Vargo bent over it to begin drawing lines and arguing. Renata stood up and drifted over to a window, using that as her excuse to put her back to the room, so no one could see the dread she was fighting.

  Almost no one.

  The bright splash of Peabody crept up onto the windowsill. ::If you whisper very quietly, Tanaquis won’t hear you; she’s busy impugning Vargo’s memory. Are you all right, my dear?::

  Ash. That desecrating poison coursing through her body again, warping everything to nightmares. “I will be.”

  ::Are you certain?::

  Not in the slightest. But—“I have to fix this. Gammer Lindworm had the medallion; I pulled it from her during the fight, and I didn’t think to pick it up.”

  ::I see.:: Alsius paused, legs dancing restlessly. ::Then let us speak of more pleasant things.::

  She was happy to let him natter on, filling the time with any thought that came into his head, speculating whether that copy of Mirscellis’s book might be his own, sold off after his death. Vargo didn’t even complain about the distraction—not until Alsius asked, ::And how are the gloves coming along?::

  ::Gloves?:: That interruption came not from Alsius, but from Vargo. Renata glanced over her shoulder. Tanaquis was huddled over their scatter of notes, but he sat straight, arms above his head and mulberry coat stretched tight across his shoulders.

  ::I requested that Mistress Tess make me some.::

  Vargo was removing his own gloves, hopelessly streaked with graphite, charcoal, and chalk from the afternoon’s activities. His coat followed, and then he hunkered back down to work. ::How would they be gloves? You don’t have thumbs. Mittens, at best.::

  ::I beg your pardon!:: Alsius said, indignant. ::If they go on my hands, they’re gloves. My thumbs or lack thereof do not enter into it.::

  ::Feet. Not hands. They’d basically be socks.::

  Their banter was an effective enough balm that when Tanaquis straightened and cracked her back, Renata was able to speak with convincing equanimity. “I’d like to make some arrangements regarding Traementis business before we do this, since Giuna is visiting her mother in the bay, and I don’t know how long it will take me to recover.”

  Tanaquis rolled up the final draft. “The inscription will take a while, anyway. I’d prefer to do it in the amphitheatre, but I doubt Her Elegance would allow—Oh! I can use the temple. It sits more or less under the amphitheatre, and I won’t have to worry about others trampling through. I’ll do that this afternoon, once I’ve sent a message to His Worship about the ash samples.”

  “Then I’ll retrieve my kit and meet you there to help.” Shrugging back into his coat, Vargo diverted past Renata to scoop up Peabody. “Shall I escort you out, Renata? And while I’m at it… I don’t suppose I could interest House Traementis in adopting some darling Lower Bank orphans?”

  Temple of the Illius Praeteri, Old Island: Canilun 14

  Learning numinatria under the tutelage of a spider meant Vargo had never practiced cooperative inscription—at least, not with anyone who had a body he could bump into. Working with Tanaquis was surprisingly easy, though. She had an intuitive understanding of how each curve and line should flow into the others, and a concentration that was frankly daunting. She didn’t criticize his own technique, either, and she brushed her hands off with dusty satisfaction once they’d finished and stood aside to admire their handiwork.

  From the point of Illi-zero, the spiral cycled through the sequence of numina Vargo had crawled along that night at the Great Amphitheatre, each secondary figure dormant and waiting for its focus. The whole was encased in Quinat, encased in Illi-ten—body and spirit. Plus a containing Uniat for mind, because he wasn’t the madman Breccone Indestris had been.

  He was a different sort of madman.

  ::I don’t suppose there’s any talking you out of this,:: Alsius said as Vargo followed Tanaquis out of the Praeteri temple.

  Vargo didn’t bother pretending he didn’t know what Alsius meant. If you thought there was, you would have tried already.

  Alsius hadn’t. Other than offering a few suggestions while Tanaquis and Vargo inscribed the numinat, he’d said very little since they left the townhouse in Whitesail.

  “I’ll head to the Sebatium now to see about collecting the ash,” Tanaquis said once they were free of the tunnel and back in the empty Suncross storefront that hid the entrance. “And send a note to Renata that we’re ready when she is. Shall we meet again tomorrow morning at third sun?”

  “Not earlier?” Vargo teased, surprised she was showing such restraint.

  Tanaquis laughed. “Even I know not to bother Renata before she’s had her morning coffee.”

  But Renata—Ren—had admitted to Vargo that she despised the stuff and only drank it to maintain her ruse as a cultured Seterin noblewoman. She did that often, he was coming to realize. Forcing herself through things she disliked, even feared, because she had to.

  He wasn’t going to let fetching the pendant she’d lost be one of them. That woman had suffered enough nightmares because of him.

  Vargo asked Tanaquis, “Are you certain it’s safe to leave the numinat alone for the night?”

  Surprise chased off her amusement. “Why wouldn’t it be? The temple is secure from outsiders, and none of the Praeteri would disturb a numinat they found there.”

  “Of course.” The concern was secondary to Vargo’s main worry, that Tanaquis would decide to return early to check on it. Her naive confidence gave him confidence that he’d be able to proceed uninterrupted.

  After putting her in a sedan chair and bidding her farewell, Vargo bought a quick dinner of fried scallion cakes and crispy bluegill at a corner stall, waiting a bell to make certain Tanaquis didn’t return. For all her focus, she also seemed entirely capable of forgetting something and doubling back to retrieve it.

  Then he made his way back into the temple, and the central chamber where they’d inscribed the numinat.

  ::At least bring me with you,:: Alsius said as Vargo finished setting the foci an
d closed the circle that would activate the numinat. It hummed to life, the charge lifting the hair on his arms as he pulled out a vial of ash. Iridet wasn’t the only one who’d kept a sample handy after most of the street drug was destroyed.

  “Do you want to risk guessing at the safe dose for a spider?” Vargo asked, grimacing, after he’d choked down his own dose. The ash sat unpleasantly in his gut, though perhaps that came from the knowledge of how the stuff had been made rather than its actual effects. Those, he knew from bitter experience, took roughly a bell to kick in. “Besides,” he added as he repacked his inscriptor’s kit and slung the bag over his shoulder, “if you come along, who’s going to say kind words over my body at the Ninatium when this fails?”

  ::Not I,:: Alsius said primly.

  Vargo smiled at all the things left unsaid. “You mean, your words won’t be kind?”

  ::I mean there won’t be a body to say them over.::

  They both fell silent, neither one voicing what Alsius really meant. Don’t fail.

  The charge in the air slowly strengthened to a faint hum, and the lines of the numinat took on a scintillating glow, like they’d been chalked with prismatium. Setting Peabody safely onto a column base, Vargo stepped past the containing circle and onto the path of the spira aurea where it intersected Illi-ten.

  The spiral stretched before him like a road. The longest argument they’d had over how to do this had concerned the sequence of the numina, with Alsius shouting in Vargo’s head that walking the path backward was sacrilege, and Tanaquis stubbornly maintaining that the paradox of starting the path at its terminus was a necessary element. An argument Vargo finally ended when he pointed out that the outermost numen on the amphitheatre numinat had also been Ninat.

  He saw the truth of Tanaquis’s insight now as he passed along Ninat and the air around him shifted like a veil parting between one world and the next. If Illi-ten was the gateway, then Ninat was the guard.

  But he also understood Alsius’s concerns. This inverted path was meant to be traversed by the spirits of the dead. Supplicants at a temple walked the numina up the central aisle when they entered, but exited along the bare side aisles. The Lumen’s judgment weighed on Vargo as he broke the taboo; it pushed down on his shoulders, slowing his steps to a slog, stealing the breath from his body. It was like swimming against the Dežera in flood. The world around him grew dim, dark, until he was the only thing left. Then even that was stripped away, flesh dissolving, thoughts fading, spirit scattering like leaves in the water.