the winding stair. From there they journeyed east along the
steppes.
When they were within an hour of Lowing Hall, where
Duskin and Lizbeth kept their residence, they were forced to
part company since Carter and Jonathan would be traveling
farther east.
“I regret we can’t come with you,” Duskin replied, “but
we’ll do what we can here.”
Carter gave his brother a hug, and in so doing, found
himself unexpectedly emotional, as if he were deserting him.
Blinking back tears, he embraced Lizbeth, then he and
Jonathan set off again across the steppes.
At five o’clock that afternoon they passed out of North
Lowing and entered the winding corridors of the Uffolloff
Heights, a portion of the house built across a range of small
mountains. They journeyed an hour along the corridors called
the Toes, a wavering north-south passage lying at the
mountains’ feet, and soon began their ascent, along corridors
angling from side to side to avoid becoming too steep. Where
sharp inclines were unavoidable, stairs had been built. Blue
molding with crenelated borders covered the walls; Prussian-
blue carpet sheathed the floors; Nottingham lace adorned the
windows. Hundreds of portraits of the founders and heroes of
the Heights peered through the gloom, their eyes yellowed
with age.
The gradual slope of the passages, after the earlier descent
from the Astronomy Tower, left the travelers aching. They
spent the night in one of the quaint Victorian drawing rooms
scattered along the corridor. Wanstead sofas served as beds,
and the fireplace box had plenty of wood for a cheery blaze.
They dined on bread and cheese. Distrusting Armilus,
Carter wanted to check on Jason, but had a little time before he
must go. When they had sat in silence awhile before the
flickering fire, Lord Anderson sighed.
“What is the young Master thinking?” Jonathan asked.
“Mostly that I don’t feel that young anymore.” He smiled.
“Actually, I was thinking that if not for Armilus and the Poetry
Men, this would be a grand adventure. I am forever fascinated
by the winding halls of Evenmere, the endless corridors, the
uncountable stairs. One would think I would weary of it, but I
never do. It’s like tramping in a forest, where every turn brings
a new vista: here a gnarled cabinet hoary as a man, there a
weathered statue faded by the sun, a stream, a rock formation
grinning like a ghost—that is Evenmere. As if I were on a
treasure hunt.”
“I am sure the house appreciates your appreciation,”
Jonathan said.
Carter laughed. “Enoch puts it the same way, talking about
it as if it were alive. It does feel like that sometimes. He says it
wasn’t always Victorian architecture, but has changed over the
ages. Are you old enough to remember that?”
“A house old as time would change. Think of what it has
seen. So many wonderful lives, so many exquisite souls. No
one should be surprised if it takes on a life of its own. Or was
alive from the beginning. There is a very old story about
Evenmere, you know. It tells how, when the house first came
into existence, it stood in a great silence, in a universe without
planets or suns or any other thing, filled with nothing but
diffused light passing through gray mist. No ground existed
beneath the mansion, only that mist in every direction.
Evenmere did not know who had built it; it did not know to
even ask the question. It dwelt, the only dwelling in that
emptiness, for an unknown length of time.
“One day, the clocks scattered through the mansion started
ticking, so Evenmere knew Time had begun its great race.
Outside, the rain began to fall. The house felt the earth form
beneath it, pebble by pebble, until its foundations stood on
solid ground. The rain made ponds and lakes and mighty
oceans in the low places, and the waters came pouring over its
verandas, passing through its doorways, cutting channels
within the house, streaming down what would become the
Fable River.
“In the place we now call the Tower of Astronomy, lights
appeared as clouds of gas. They coalesced, becoming glowing
stars. The mists cleared. Evenmere stood upon a world, on a
plain covered in waving grass, the buttery light of the sun
overhead.
“With the waters came life. Fish appeared in Evenmere’s
rivers. Animals rose along the bank. And one day, long after, a
boat slipped down the Fable. Within it, dressed in gray and
gold and green and scarlet, were the First Ones, men and
women young and beautiful as the sunlight shining in
Evenmere’s eaves. The High House watched with interest
these new people inhabiting its halls, but though it understood
their tongues, it had no way to speak to them. Nonetheless,
working subtly, it showed them how to work the mechanisms
of the house. They learned that doing so enabled them to keep
the universe in order, and that became the mission of their
lives.
“With everything running well, Evenmere rejoiced to be
alive, listening to its ticking clocks, watching the burning stars
surrounding the Astronomy Towers, hearing the ghosts play in
the Room of Horrors, observing the shadows creep from the
Valley of Shadow. Other people drifted in through its doors.
“But as is the way with people everywhere, as more folks
entered its portals things became complicated. Some opposed
those who ran the mechanisms of the house. This confused
Evenmere. And so, again working in silence, it created the
position of Head Servant, to coordinate the work of the other
servants. Eventually, those who followed that servant came to
call him the Master.
“Since that time, the house has struggled to keep the
Balance against those who would undermine it.”
As if in answer to Jonathan’s tale, the floorboards, settling
for the night, gave a comforting creak.
“A lovely story, though flawed,” Carter said. “If the house
couldn’t speak, it could never reveal what it saw in the
beginning. But imagine the things it would tell us if it could.
These old boards …” He glanced at the pictures on the wall of
landscapes and wide-eyed children. “The first question I
would ask is why so much of it is empty. Why so many
unoccupied chambers?”
Jonathan took a sip of tea from his tin cup. “That is a good
question. My answer is if the house is nearly infinite, it is too
enormous to be filled.”
Carter laughed. “Nearly infinite ; there’s an impossible turn
of phrase. You are probably more widely traveled than anyone.
Do you really think it endless?”
“Not endless, but very large. The universe itself has an
end, Master Anderson, and what lies beyond it, who can say?
Perhaps other universes. Perhaps universe after universe
sitting on long shelves like blue marbles.
But if Evenmere
represents the universe, why should it not be mostly empty of
life, as is the universe itself? Think of the distances between
the stars. Living creatures make up but a small part. So too the
house. But do not think, because the distances are great and
men small, that size is relevant. No! A great whale is many
times larger than a human, yet humanity rules the world. So
too the size of the universe humbles us, as when we stare out
of the Tower of Astronomy at the hanging stars. But the
human spirit, when grounded in compassion, can be large as
Leviathan.”
“Yet many are mean-spirited,” Carter said, “and life plays
cruel tricks that sometimes leave us bitter.”
“Children have the greatest souls, if they are raised with
love, for they have faith in the wonder and mystery of the
world. Adults must remember that and find it anew.
Eventually, all secrets are revealed.”
Carter chuckled. “It seems to me many things in my life
remain hidden, and Evenmere has a million secrets. Are you
still angry with me for making a truce with Armilus?”
Jonathan was silent for so long Carter grew uncomfortable.
“Anger is for a single moment, Master Anderson. It hasn’t any
good use thereafter. I am worried, but what is done is done.
We must concentrate on finding Professor Shoemate and
learning the source of the Poetry Men’s power. Finding it, we
must somehow put an end to it. It is a desperate course,
requiring all our strength and mind.”
At the appointed hour, Carter walked once more in the
land of slumber. The Word Which Brings Aid summoned Mr.
Hope, and Carter grimaced, for he had hoped for Sarah, who
would have been more understanding of his agreement with
Armilus.
After Carter related the news and told of the battle, Mr.
Hope sat down in the rocking chair in Jason’s room, lips
pursed, his round face a mask, and did not speak for so long
Carter finally burst out, “Well, say it and get it over with!”
“Sorry,” Hope said. “It’s a lot to absorb. Messengers
reached us this evening about the fight, but the details were
lacking.”
“Are you appalled?”
Hope raised his eyebrows. “Appalled? No. Your actions
were justified. Concerned.”
“Jonathan said the same thing. What are you thinking?”
“Too many thoughts at once. Given your weariness, your
need to protect Jason, and the threat to the Astronomy Tower,
you did what you thought best; but one can be logical, correct
even, and still take the wrong path. You have bound yourself
to a nebulous promise not to interfere with the anarchists
unless they present a danger to the house. More concrete terms
would have been better.”
“Do you believe he will honor our bargain?”
Hope’s brow unfurrowed. “I actually think he may. I have
been researching Doctor Benjamin Armilus, who has proven
to be a fascinating character. His mother died when he was
fourteen, killed by a thief in their home. His father became
interested in the anarchy party shortly thereafter, but never
officially joined. He did become distant, traveling for business,
so Armilus was often left alone, and soon fell in with his
father’s anarchist connections. He continued the association
throughout his university career, rising rapidly in rank within
the party, and has served on the Anarchist Council for over ten
years, despite briefly falling out of favor. During much of that
time, he worked first as a professor, then as dean of the
College of Poets, surreptitiously using his position to recruit
students to the cause. A voracious reader, possessed of a
photographic memory, he may have one of the finest minds in
Evenmere. He is fluent in Latin, Gostian, and Old Aylyrium,
and conversant in six other languages. He values personal
loyalty, even beyond loyalty to his party. He has a high sense
of drama; he loves the grand gesture, as evidenced by his
confronting you after the battle. He also loves little inside
jokes, even at perilous cost—Chant pointed out that the
doctor’s pseudonyms, Mr. Simular and L’Marius, are
anagrams for Armilus. As the clown, he even stressed the
spelling of Simular with a u to Jason, and used the name
L’Marius despite the possibility that you might have known
the real bosun’s name.”
“Beyond audacious,” Carter said, “perhaps pathological.”
“Indeed, but more germane to your question, Armilus is, in
his way, an honorable man, with a convoluted code of conduct.
I’m not saying he wouldn’t break his promise, but he would do
so only if absolutely necessary. My guess is that since he has
the truce he wanted, he will dismiss Jason from his mind.”
“That’s some relief, assuming you are correct.”
“Right. But …” Hope hesitated.
“What?”
“I don’t know how to say this.”
“You’re a lawyer, Will. You always know how to say it.”
Hope smiled. “Actually, I’m a butler. Very well. It doesn’t
do any good to have advisors unless they are frank. You may
have, with the best of intentions, broken a fundamental law of
the house.”
“You are the second person tonight to speak of the house
as if it were alive.”
“Perhaps not the house itself, but the principles behind the
house. I have been doing a lot of reading. The Master must
answer to a higher calling, even if it means sacrificing those
around him.”
“Are you saying I should have forfeited my son?”
Hope winced. “No. I mean, I don’t see how you could; but
the Master has obligations beyond those of ordinary men.”
“And what should I have done?” Carter demanded. “Let
him have Jason? Let myself grow so weary I became lost in
dream? Where would Evenmere be then?”
“I’m not condemning you. I’m warning you that there may
be consequences. The house demands much.”
“The house demands too much!” Lord Anderson turned
and paced back and forth across the room, then sat on the bed
and ran a hand through his hair.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice low in defeat.
“You’re right, of course. I suppose that’s what makes me so
angry. I’ve been trying not to think about it. I’ve seen it every
way but the way it really is.”
He looked Hope in the eyes. “I have betrayed Evenmere.”
“You did what you thought best.”
“I allowed my love for my son to take precedence over my
duty. I didn’t have to keep watch over him every night. I could
have remained at my task, protecting the manor. If the Poetry
Men succeed, Jason may die anyway. It’s as if I’ve stolen the
Master Keys all over again.”
“I didn’t tell you this to make you feel guilty,” Hope said.
“I want you to be prepared, in case there are repercussions.”
“Of what sort?”
“
I don’t know. There are principles concerning the Balance
that are beyond my understanding, perhaps beyond anyone’s
understanding. Because you weren’t willing to sacrifice Jason,
something else may happen. I know that’s vague, but you need
to watch for it, try to be ready.”
“Something involving my boy?”
“It’s not some cosmic scale, weighing one action against
another. It’s rather that events have been tipped toward the side
of Chaos. Anything you can do to shore up the cause of Order
might be useful.”
Carter frowned. “You don’t understand what you’re
asking. Whatever I do to affect Chaos or Order can have
unpredictable—even disastrous—effects. I wouldn’t know
how to go about it.”
“Then all I can advise is to watch for whatever opportunity
comes your way.”
Carter grimaced, despair gripping his heart.
Following Carter and Jonathan’s departure, Duskin,
Lizbeth, and the soldiers soon reached Lowing Hall, a
sprawling set of apartments overlooking a channel of the
Fable. Terraced steppes of white marble surrounded the house,
so that looking out from the upper stories was like gazing over
glacial plains.
Duskin went at once to confer with King Edgemont,
leaving Lizbeth on her own for a few hours. After several days
of being surrounded by people, she invariably welcomed her
time alone. Eschewing any assistance from the maid, she ran
her own bath, and after luxuriating in its warmth, dressed and
went to the sleepy library nestled in the southern portion of the
house. Despite its small size, the shelves were carefully
stocked, and she was soon lying on a floral fainting couch,
immersed in the flowing prose of Yodner’s Paradoxicon .
The room was warm, and the author’s slow images of
velvet curtains against sand and sea gradually lulled Lizbeth,
until she could scarcely stay awake. She had just finished the
section where the whole sky rolls up at twilight, revealing the
Swain Rider, when her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open.
It seemed she had remained so for only a few seconds
before a scraping rumble caused her to start. At first, she
thought she must still be asleep and dreaming, for the
bookshelf at the end of the couch had swung outward,
revealing the maw of a lightless passage.
She sat up, completely alert the moment her feet touched
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