Evenmere (The Evenmere Chronicles Book 3)

by Stoddard, James

  peering from the ceiling, statuary given grim aspect in the

  shadowy glow of Lizbeth’s lantern.

  “This passage is called Disquieting,” Lizbeth said. “There

  is not a gas-jet anywhere down its length. It serves as a

  defensible corridor between the bridge and the capitol. The

  statuary is intended to discourage intruders.”

  “I have traveled it many times,” Jonathan said, “and know

  the stories told of it, of ghosts and dreads and splotchy deaths.

  That’s right. But none of them are true. The darkness is warm

  and comfortable as an old mitten. An adventurous darkness. I

  like it very much.”

  “Do you?” Lizbeth asked, clearly delighted. “So do I. I

  love its solitude, its stone steps, even its gargoyles, who look

  more like monkeys than monsters to me. I was alone for so

  long, it isn’t easy always having so much company, so I come

  here when the press of people overwhelms me. I often make

  up stories as I journey along. By your name, you must

  understand that. Will you tell us a chronicle to pass the time?”

  “I never recite stories for entertainment; I only tell them to

  cheer the human heart, and have none for you.”

  Lizbeth frowned. “Truly? You think me cheerless then, or

  too cheerful? Mostly I am worried about my husband. But

  what an odd gentleman you are! I would have thought you

  could tell a tale at a finger’s snap.”

  “Have you read Robinson Crusoe ?”

  Lizbeth beamed. “I love that book! When I returned from

  my captivity, having owned only a single copy of Wuthering

  Heights to read, I visited a library and sat for an hour,

  astonished to remember so many books could exist. I’ve heard

  that Robinson Crusoe is about a real man who, after being

  rescued, grew shy and reclusive.”

  “The book comforts you,” Jonathan said.

  “Like him, I was forged by my years of imposed isolation.

  The silence is like a holy temple to me, for I found happiness

  there even in despair.”

  “Yet it was so lonely.” Jonathan watched her with his dark,

  quiet eyes. “That’s right. A terrible loneliness, thick as thorns.”

  “There is both pleasure and pain in being alone,” Lizbeth

  said. “One can find oneself within it.”

  “And it is a place of retreat,” Jonathan said. “Fearing for

  your husband, you wish you could go there again.”

  Lizbeth gave him a wary glance.

  “None of that, now,” he said. “There is nothing to be

  ashamed of. More than once Mister Crusoe must have longed

  to return to his little island. You have great inner strength,

  Lizbeth Powell Anderson. You have passed through the fire

  and flowed out pure gold. Your courage will always overcome

  your longing to hide.”

  Tears came to the corners of Lizbeth’s eyes. “How do you

  know so much about me?”

  “I am Storyteller, who sees to the heart.”

  “I have learned,” Lizbeth said, with great earnestness. “I

  have learned not to talk to myself when others are present, as I

  used to do in the solitude. I have learned not to quote

  Wuthering Heights as I once did, for though I know it by heart

  and it often springs to mind, it is not a book one should live

  by. But it’s hard not to want the old refuge sometimes.”

  “That is why I haven’t a story for you.”

  “Because of the darkness within me?”

  “Oh no, child. Because there is so much light. You are

  blinding as the sun, so bright I can scarcely look at you.”

  “High praise indeed, considering its source,” Carter said,

  not a little astonished. “I have always thought well of you;

  apparently not nearly as much as you deserve.”

  “Isn’t that the way with everyone we love?” Jonathan

  asked. “But you should watch her. That’s right. This one could

  teach you worlds and worlds.”

  “I am so glad you’ve come,” Lizbeth said, taking both

  their arms. “Very glad.”

  They soon left Disquieting and passed through corridors

  leading to a spiraling stone stair, the beginning of the Tower of

  Astronomy, its ascending gas jets forming distant

  constellations in the heights. Carter led the way, sighing at the

  prospect of an arduous and monotonous climb. At first the

  tedium of the journey was broken by intersecting passages, but

  these soon ceased, leaving only the endless steps, a lack of

  breath, and aching calves and thighs.

  “I have never been this way before,” Carter said. “When I

  learned of the Circle of Servants, I invited its members to the

  Inner Chambers. Some came, but the Grand Astronomer sent

  his regrets. I planned to visit him another time when I was on

  my way to Loft, but he sent word that it wasn’t convenient.

  Mr. Hope was incensed, claiming he had insulted my

  authority, but Duskin assures me the astronomer is merely

  eccentric.”

  “Arrogant is more like it,” Lizbeth said. “I care neither for

  him, nor for his demeaning attitude toward my husband. But

  his wife is nice.”

  They reached another intersecting corridor, running away

  from the spiral stair like a spoke from a wheel. Down its

  length, Lord Anderson spied a wide aperture open to the night.

  “Let’s take a look,” he said, moving toward the embrasure.

  They found themselves on a balustrade, looking not at a

  blue sky but into the black reaches of space. Two towers stood

  in the darkness; and around them hung the stars.

  They were every color, including those hues for which

  mortals have no name. Their size varied from that of a child’s

  ball to seething orbs large as an assembly hall, suspended

  around the towers like inset gems. Stars also hung below the

  balustrade on which the companions stood, as if the Earth had

  vanished, leaving only the towers and the celestial lights.

  Carter glanced above and below him at the walls of their

  own tower. Its base was lost in the darkness, its pinnacle a dim

  shadow miles above them. Stone walkways passed from this,

  the Central Tower, to the two visible towers.

  “Duskin told me of this,” Lord Anderson said. “They

  really are stars?”

  “They are,” Jonathan replied. “Stars hang from each of the

  Nine Towers, like jewels at a fine lady’s throat. The sun

  neither rises nor sets upon them.”

  “Of all the stories of Evenmere, even Mr. Hope was

  skeptical of this one,” Carter replied. “Stars are vast, gaseous

  clouds, millions of miles in circumference, burning in the

  vacuum of space.”

  “That’s right, Master Anderson,” Jonathan said. “That’s

  right. And they are also fairy lights hung on the Astronomy

  Towers.”

  “Representations?”

  “Both representations and realities.”

  Carter found another embrasure farther down the corridor,

  where he could see another tower. Looking at the stars flaming

  at its top, thick with the pulse of eternity, burning as they had

  done throughout
the eons, left him hopeful and lonely and

  joyous and filled with his own insignificance, as stars often do.

  The part of him that was the Master felt their mysterious

  relationship to the Balance. If time had allowed, he could have

  studied them for hours, seeking to comprehend that

  connection, but he tore himself away, comforted and

  discomfited.

  “Let’s get to the top and see the rest,” he said.

  They ascended another long hour, occasionally stopping to

  visit other portals with stars hanging in empty space, some

  seeming less than an arm’s length away, others draped around

  the surrounding towers like Christmas candles. Toward the end

  of their journey the suns lay thick as a mantle, the sparkling

  pearls of the Milky Way shimmering in a net across the

  highest spires.

  At last the travelers reached two North Lowing Guards

  armed with short swords and pistols, the first of a squad

  stationed in pairs every hundred steps along the stair. One of

  these recognized Lizbeth, making it unnecessary for Carter to

  display his Ring of Office, and they were passed on until they

  came to an oak door standing wide, with a gun crew at its

  threshold manning a shrapnel cannon pointing down the stair.

  They entered a circular chamber draped in floral rugs, with

  Morris tapestries of peacocks on acanthus backgrounds

  covering brick walls. A fireplace curved along one side,

  surrounded by desks, end tables, and fat chairs with threadbare

  arms. A young boy dressed in a hooded gray robe approached

  at once.

  “This way, please,” the lad said, without other words of

  introduction. He led them up a stair into a chamber large

  enough to hold a thousand people, though far fewer were

  currently present. Along with several men and women dressed

  in the same gray robes as their guide, there was a company of

  soldiers from North Lowing, garbed in their heekis , and a

  company of the White Circle Guard.

  “This is the Main Observation Hall,” their guide said.

  “Please make yourselves comfortable.”

  “Thank you,” Lizbeth said, but the boy had already turned

  back toward the chamber below.

  “A warm reception,” Carter said.

  Rows of machinery, all levers and gauges, spouts and

  valves, lined the curvature of the walls. Various types of

  viewing devices, from telescopes to stereo-optic lenses, ranged

  along the sides of the domed ceiling, pointing out into the

  darkness. The robed workers moved from telescope to

  telescope, preoccupied with their duties, while the soldiers,

  used to the long periods of waiting that comprise the military

  life, sat or lay upon the floor, playing cards, sleeping, or

  reading. The room was dimly lit, undoubtedly to facilitate

  stellar observation, and it took Carter a moment to spy his

  brother. Duskin sat cross-legged in a stuffed chair, distractedly

  biting his lip, his usually immaculate frock coat wrinkled, his

  blond hair unkempt. He looked worn beyond hope, this brother

  who was always so carefree.

  Lord Anderson hurried to him, calling his name.

  Duskin looked up, brightened, and rose to clasp his sibling.

  “Carter! I’m so relieved to see you! We’re in a bit of a stew.”

  “So Lizbeth said.”

  Perplexity filled Duskin’s features as he caught sight of his

  wife. “Lizbeth! She shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous.”

  Lizbeth rushed into her husband’s arms and burst into

  tears. “I was so worried about you!”

  Duskin looked at his brother in helpless embarrassment.

  “She helped us find our way,” Carter said, eliciting a

  grateful glance from Lizbeth.

  “I’m sorry,” Duskin told her. “I thought you knew I was

  here.”

  Lizbeth stepped back, wiping her eyes. “I don’t mean to

  make a scene, but after the news from Lookfar, I didn’t know

  what might have happened.”

  “You’ve heard, then?”

  Jonathan, trailing behind Lord Anderson, said, “News

  travels fast through this old house.”

  “This is Jonathan Bartholomew,” Carter said, “sometimes

  called Storyteller. He’s been an enormous aid.”

  “The Storyteller?” Duskin’s eyes widened. “I’ve always

  wanted to meet you.”

  “And here I am,” Jonathan said, extending his hand.

  “I’ll show Jonathan the telescopes while you two make

  plans,” Lizbeth said.

  “I would be honored,” the minstrel replied, though Carter

  suspected he had seen the Towers before.

  “I don’t like her being here,” Duskin said. “How in the

  world did she—”

  “You don’t want to know. There’s nothing to be done for it

  now.”

  Duskin rolled his eyes. “I’m sure she has an explanation.

  After we married I thought we would make a place for

  ourselves, but the adjustment has been hard. She doesn’t

  always fit in with the other women; she’s too direct and too

  beautiful; you know how emotional she can be.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t misunderstand. I love her desperately,

  but she sometimes misunderstands things in the oddest way.”

  “She spent a long time alone.”

  “I know. And look at her now.” He pointed to where she

  was guiding Jonathan toward the lens of a great telescope.

  “There she is, the face of an angel, charming your friend so

  you and I can have a minute alone. I tell you, Carter,

  sometimes I could worship her and sometimes I would like to

  strangle her with my bare hands.”

  Carter grinned. “Then you have found true love. No doubt

  she feels the same.”

  Duskin started to say something, then closed his mouth

  and grinned. “I suppose she does. I’m not always the best

  husband.”

  He glanced around the room, his eyes growing bleak. “I

  have no business going on about my personal affairs. A

  company is dead, and we don’t even know our enemy.”

  “Tell me the situation.”

  “As soon as we received Marshal Inkling’s message, we

  brought additional soldiers to the Tower from Lowing Hall,

  even though the small force already here could hold off an

  army coming up those steps; it’s the only way in, you know.

  I’m glad we did, especially after the destruction of the

  company at Lookfar—Captain Hadden and eighty men.

  Apparently two Poetry Men appeared and enchanted the

  soldiers with some kind of siren song. The handful who

  survived managed to resist it and escape. The victims were

  found scattered through the passage, their expressions filled

  with horror. Our scouts report the poets are approaching the

  Tower, leading a large group of anarchists. I’m sick about it,

  Carter. When you appointed me to help in the reorganization

  of North Lowing, I didn’t dream something like this could

  happen.”

  Duskin ran his hands over his eyes. “I may not be cut out

  for this. I was actually beginning to enjoy it, too. King

  Edgemo
nt is a jewel of a fellow, just too old to do the work.

  With both his sons dead, the monarchy in North Lowing is

  finished, anyway. But he is finally starting to trust me enough

  to give over some real authority. We’ve rebuilt Tharken Pass.

  It’s painted in seventeen colors, as in ancient times. Captain

  Hadden and I had dinner there three nights ago, when the sun

  was just falling into twilight and everything absolutely

  glowed. He regaled me with the best after-dinner stories. What

  will I say to his wife?”

  Duskin turned his head, struggling to master himself. His

  mouth twisted; tears touched the corners of his eyes. Carter

  clasped his shoulder.

  “It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t his commander.”

  Duskin looked into his brother’s eyes. “No, but I was the

  one who convinced the king to send them.”

  “You couldn’t have predicted it,” Lord Anderson said

  softly. “We never know where the hammer may fall.”

  They fell silent, until Duskin squared his shoulders and

  cleared his throat. “Yes, well, life is never easy, is it? Have you

  met the Grand Astronomer yet?”

  Carter glanced around. He had already noticed a tall man

  in a white robe and skull cap, who carried himself with

  authority. “No. I’m surprised he hasn’t introduced himself

  already. Surely he noticed our arrival.”

  Duskin gave a wry grin. “Make no mistake; he won’t come

  to you. He’s a proud one. Come along.”

  Duskin led Carter to the Grand Astronomer, a slender man

  apparently in his early fifties, with a long, austere face, Greek

  nose, and imperious eyes.

  “Astronomer Phra,” Duskin said, “may I present Carter

  Anderson, Master of Evenmere? Carter, this is Edwin Phra, the

  Grand Astronomer.”

  The astronomer gave a low, sweeping bow that made his

  silk robes whisper. “Lord Anderson.” His voice was deep and

  formal. “We should repair to my upper chambers. The

  conversation of such as we is not a matter for common ears.”

  Phra led Lord Anderson to a spiral staircase at the far side

  of the hall, which took them to a paneled room with a single

  portal through which a long telescope peered. There were two

  more doors, one closed, the other standing half-open to the

  room beyond, revealing spartan living quarters. The chamber

  being without chairs, both men stood.

  “I am glad to finally meet you,” Phra said coldly, one eye