“We have a temporary truce,” Carter admitted.
“What kind of truce?”
Carter told what had happened in the country of dream,
and for the first time saw Jonathan’s face fill with anger. The
minstrel clutched his forehead with one hand.
“You don’t know what you have done, Master Anderson.
You don’t know what you have done. You may have sacrificed
Evenmere.”
“I had no choice. My son—”
“There is always a choice,” Jonathan said. “Always. You
have given them more power than you can imagine. Not just
Armilus, but the forces of Chaos.”
Lizbeth rushed up just then. “Carter, during the battle a
man came to the chamber above, followed by some sort of
animal. We think he must have stolen something, but we don’t
know what.”
Storyteller sat on the floor, weeping and moaning from
behind his hands.
Shadow Valley
For the remainder of the night Lord Anderson, Duskin,
Lizbeth, and—at Carter’s insistence—Jonathan Bartholomew
slept in the guest quarters of the Grand Astronomer, while the
soldiers kept watch below. Lord Anderson did not fully trust
Armilus’ promise to leave Jason alone, but that night he had
no choice; using the Words of Power had drained him
completely. For the first time, he realized the ramifications of
their pact. The doctor knew Carter would keep his word, while
Carter had no such assurance.
Despite his anxiety, he soon dropped into a deep,
dreamless sleep. He awoke much later, and finding it still dark
outside, fumbled for his pocket watch, which read 12:02. Two
towers, adorned with burning stars, stood outside his window,
and at first he thought it must be midnight, until he
remembered that daylight never came to the Tower of
Astronomy, and he had retired after the witching hour. With
astonishment, he realized he must have slept till noon.
He sat up in bed and the sudden movement sent a jabbing
pain along his shoulder. He slowly rotated his arm, working
out the soreness, then rose and dressed by starlight. Stepping
from his room, he encountered Edwin Phra approaching along
the corridor.
“Ah, Master Anderson, I was just coming to find you.
Lunch is about to be served, if you would care to join the
company.”
“Certainly,” Carter said. “Is Jonathan there?”
“I assume he is downstairs. A presumptuous fellow. Tried
to tell me some odd tale over breakfast, as if I had time for that
sort of thing.”
“His stories can be instructive. I would like him to lunch
with us.”
Phra raised his eyebrows. “If you insist, though it seems a
strange breach of protocol.”
“I do insist.” Rankled by the astronomer’s arrogance,
Carter spoke more sharply than he intended, but if Phra
noticed he gave no sign.
Carter followed the astronomer to a small chamber
overlooking the star towers. Duskin and Lizbeth were already
there, seated around an oak table with a woman wearing a
green silk dress with wide pagoda sleeves.
“I must leave you in the capable hands of my spouse, for I
have to be about my duties,” the Grand Astronomer said.
“Blodwen, this is Lord Carter Anderson. Lord Anderson, my
wife, Blodwen Phra.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” Blodwen’s soft voice possessed
a slow, eternal quality, as if the timeless heavens outside the
window had seeped into her soul. She was tall, with deep
brown eyes, hands fine as sewn silk, and a smile so small as to
be merely an upturn of her lips.
“The pleasure is mine,” Carter said, giving a slight bow.
Jonathan soon joined them. After the minstrel’s rebuke the
night before, Carter expected to meet a cold reception, but
Storyteller gave him a warm greeting and a subdued smile. He
sat down heavily and glanced around. “You must forgive me
today. I am a bit under the weather. My head feels like
someone punched a hole through it. But don’t you worry. I
will be just fine. I have good bones.”
Over a lunch of braised goose, Lady Blodwen told the
names of the stars hanging on the towers, and where they
stood in the heavens, and how many planets revolved around
each one; and showed her locket, with miniatures of her son
and daughter within, who were grown and married and living
in Aylyrium. She gave off a quiet assuredness, a serenity of
spirit warm as a candle-glow, a stark contrast to her husband’s
coldness.
“Don’t you find it wearing, living always in the night?”
Lizbeth asked, staring out at the stars. “Do you ever long for
blue sky?”
“Oh, yes,” Blodwen said. “The stars are like the ocean, too
vast and terrible to contemplate for long. It does make one
lonely. When it becomes too much, I visit my mother in the
Downs of Gen.”
“How long have you and the astronomer been married?”
Duskin asked.
“Eighteen years this spring.”
“Does it bother you, his having had so many other wives?”
Lizbeth asked.
Carter
groaned
inwardly
at
his
sister-in-law’s
impertinence, and Duskin lowered his eyes to the table, but
Blodwen patted Lizbeth’s hand and said, “The Grand
Astronomer has the admirable trait of loving his current wife
best. He may seem aloof, but he bears a great responsibility
and needs a touch the stars cannot give. Whatever he
remembers, Edwin never mentions his five previous
marriages.”
“But you will grow old, and he will not,” Lizbeth
persisted, causing Duskin to look so uncomfortable Carter had
to suppress a grin. “It seems hard.”
Blodwen glanced down at the table, her serenity
untouched. “It is both a joy and sorrow. Yes, my beauty will
wane, while his will not, yet he is steadfast, and when I am an
old woman, he will care for me and tend me if I grow ill, and
love me still, perhaps in the way a son loves his mother, or a
father his daughter who cannot care for herself. Have you read
Yeats? But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved
the sorrow of your changing face. Edwin loves the pilgrim
soul within me. What more could any woman want?”
“That’s beautiful,” Lizbeth said. “Do you love my pilgrim
soul, Duskin?”
That, at least, brought a smile to Duskin’s face. “It
describes you well, my dear. You are certainly mercurial in
nature.”
“Lord Anderson, Lizbeth tells me you know the man who
stole into our rooms last night,” Blodwen said. “My husband
discovered that a bit of light was siphoned off a star in the
Arcturus system. The intruder tried to erase the signs of the
theft, but the machinery is far more sophisticated than any but
the Grand Astronomer can conceive. Edwin cannot think of
&nbs
p; any use to be made of the captured starlight.”
“Tell me the entire story again,” Carter said. “Any detail
might be important.”
Together, the women related the facts of their encounter,
leaving Carter with a sick feeling in his stomach. He should
have thought to guard the secret ways.
“So helping us stop the Poetry Men was just a ruse,”
Duskin said.
“No,” Carter replied, “Armilus wants the poets thwarted,
but it must delight him to earn our gratitude while stealing
from us. Imagine the man’s cheek, confronting me for his own
amusement after the battle, gambling I hadn’t already been
told of his theft.”
“Whatever his reasons,” Lady Blodwen said, “he was kind
enough to spare us.”
“Armilus has killed before,” Carter replied. “I would not
willingly cast myself upon his tender mercies. But perhaps you
recently met one of his associates? My original reason for
coming was to uncover the whereabouts of a woman named
Erin Shoemate, who holds the key to the source of the poets’
power.”
“Professor Shoemate connected with the doctor?”
Blodwen said. “That seems an odd pairing.”
“In what way?” Carter asked.
“In every way. Erin Shoemate spent three days with us,
and I have never met a more delightful woman. She is the soul
of honesty, if I am any judge. Surely you cannot suggest she is
an anarchist!”
“More of a dreamer, actually.”
“That would fit her exactly,” Blodwen said. “She was
wholly concerned with art and literature, and was seeking an
ancient book, one she thought would lead her to what she
called True Poetry. She read me some of her own poems,
which were quite good.”
“Why did she come here?” Jonathan asked. “Did she think
you had this book?”
“No. She had just spent several weeks of research in the
Palace of the Decemvirs, looking for clues to the location of a
portal called, in ancient times, the Eye Gate, which she
believed would lead to the volume she was seeking. In the
records there, she found a single reference, written by a
Minasian explorer who claimed to have visited the gate. In his
account he listed the exact date of his discovery and the
precise time of moonrise on that particular evening. She came
to us to discover the region of Evenmere in which the moon
was visible at the horizon at that time, somewhere south of
East Wing and north of the old Iphrisian Dominion.”
“That account must have been written hundreds of years
ago,” Carter said. “Were you able to supply the information?”
“Our records are quite precise. In fact, I can send a servant
to fetch a copy of what we gave her.”
Lady Blodwen gave instructions, and before the meal was
done, a messenger returned with a yellow envelope. Opening
it, Carter found a drawing of the moon at three-quarters, and a
map of Evenmere indicating a fifty-mile strip to the east.
“It is a large area to search,” Blodwen said, “but based on
the explorer’s account, Professor Shoemate believed the
Queen of Shadow Hall possessed additional information on
the Eye Gate’s location. She intended to visit Shadow Valley,
to see if its monarch could help narrow the search.”
Lord Anderson frowned and glanced at Jonathan. “Another
of the Circle of Servants. From the reports I would prefer
never to set foot in Shadow Valley, but I see no other choice.
We should be off immediately.”
“That will take you close to Lowing Hall,” Duskin said.
“Our scouts report no further signs of any poets, and I need to
return home to report to King Edgemont. Lieutenant Sedger
will remain in charge here. We could accompany you part of
the way.”
“I doubt the poets will soon strike the Tower of Astronomy
again,” Lord Anderson said. “They took a bad beating, and
Phra is stronger for having resisted their temptation.” He
withdrew his pocket watch and glanced at Lizbeth. “Can you
be ready to go by two?”
Lizbeth smiled. “Don’t ask me. You’ve forgotten I came
without luggage.”
“Then I will ask Duskin. Brother, can you have your
wardrobe ready?”
“I can manage. I need only confer with the lieutenant.”
“Two it is, then,” Carter said.
Jonathan Bartholomew made his way up the circular stair
of the Sixth Tower. As he advanced, the stars outside the
embrasures grew nearer. A third of the way up, he stepped into
a circular room filled with machinery. Choosing one of six
doors, he crossed onto a stone bridge linking the Sixth and
Seventh Towers. Above and below him hung the cold stars,
their slow rotations making the bridge seem to sway. The other
towers were visible, rising majestically into the night. The
heights did not frighten him; he had trod this way before.
Edwin Phra stood at the very edge of the span, looking
down, apparently lost in contemplation until the echoes of
Jonathan’s boots roused him. He raised his head and gave the
minstrel a cold glance, but remained silent.
“Do you like looking at the stars, Grand Astronomer?”
“They are a source of infinite wonder.” His voice was
clipped and cold.
“That’s right. That’s right. You stand here, basking in the
humming of the suns, looking at the light of other days,
listening to the music of the spheres.”
“If you’ve come to tell me some foolish story, you can
spare your voice. I have lived hundreds of years and have
heard them all.”
“So instead you stand here, thinking of your childhood
friend, wondering if you could have done anything to save
him.”
Phra took an unconscious step away from the void. “How
do you …? How dare you address me concerning that!”
“You have no time for my stories, so I must speak plainly.
That’s right. You have lived a long time, but you are a babe
dandled at the knee compared to the lifetime of the Storyteller.
He came long ago, when Evenmere dressed itself in columns
older than the ruins of Minasia. He was at the bedside when
the first Grand Astronomer died at an age little more than your
own. He played ball with the seven-year-old boy who was
your predecessor. And he will remind you that you reign in
this starry kingdom because you were chosen to do so, and if
your pride grows too great, another will take your place.”
Phra lifted an eyebrow, but his expression remained
otherwise unchanged. “I do not subscribe to the superstition
that Evenmere chooses its servants. Is this all you came to tell
me?”
Jonathan gave his large smile. “That was for free, so you
could tuck it in your pocket and rub it between your forefinger
and thumb. You are a man who makes much of respect, so
affronting your dignity is the best way to get your attention.
Did y
ou know that a second of time was stolen from the
Eternity Clock?”
Phra’s eyes widened slightly. “That could affect the stars.”
“It could affect everything. It will affect everything. It was
surely Doctor Armilus. I have connections throughout the
house, and he is being watched whenever he can be found. But
now Lord Anderson has made a truce with him.”
“The man is slipshod. It is a wonder he ever reached so
high a rank.”
“That is a question for another time, but the ramifications
are great. He has taken a step toward the side of Chaos. As a
result, it may happen that he is removed and replaced by a new
Master.”
“Removed by whom?” Phra snorted. “You?”
Storyteller ignored the question. “If this happens, his
successor will be young and lacking in experience. He will
need guidance.”
Phra looked down at the void, as if trying to see something
within it. “I am kept quite occupied, but in our present crisis, if
a new Master appeared I could be ready to … assist him. I
could send a message to the other members of the Circle of
Servants, urging them to do the same. They would listen to
me.”
“That is a good thought. The word of the Grand
Astronomer would carry considerable weight.”
“It is all I can promise.”
Jonathan nodded his head and the two men stood looking
out into the darkness.
Finally, Storyteller spoke again. “Your friend—”
“Don’t patronize me with some homily that it wasn’t my
fault, or that he is in a better place.”
“I will say nothing of the sort, not knowing his fate. It was
your fault, and his father’s fault, and his own fault. But you
were young and did not know how your words would affect
him; and the mask of pride you wear will not protect you until
you forgive yourself.” 1
With that, Jonathan turned and strode away, his patchwork
coat streaming behind him.
Immediately after lunch, Lord Anderson repaired to a
warm bath in preparation for travel. The company assembled
in the Main Observation Hall, including at Lieutenant Sedger’s
insistence a half-dozen of the North Lowing Guard to escort
Lizbeth and Duskin back to Lowing Hall. Blodwen expressed
her regrets that the Grand Astronomer’s duties prevented him
from seeing them off, so they passed without ceremony down
Evenmere (The Evenmere Chronicles Book 3) Page 24
