The Society of Two Houses (Dissolution Cycle)

by William C. Tracy

  “We listened to the Symphony around his body,” I added. “I’ve seen death before. The melodies were breaking down in the same way.”

  “Then who did this?” Gompt asked. She paced around the spot where the Etanela’s body had been until a short time ago, peering at the jointed oak floor. “Were the haywire Systems just a distraction?” The pool of blood was gone as well, and the space had been cleaned and tidied, as if nothing had happened, despite water dripping from a burst pipe overhead.

  My Festuour friend bent until her snout almost touched the wood planks. “There’s still a stain here, but it’s faint. Whoever cleaned was faster than a racing thrint in heat.”

  “The confusion would have covered much,” Moortlin rumbled, and I checked my chronograph.

  Another lightening-and-a-half gone dealing with haywire Systems.

  “Still, what one would have the, hm, ability to do such a thing?” My mentor took their own turn around the place where the record keeper died. “To affect so many Systems at once, and to do things they had not originally been composed to do—it is as if one majus has been multiplied into several.” They turned back. “This reminds one of the work this one conducted on harmonic resonances, Mandamon.”

  I froze, my palms tingling, then sweating. That’s what has been nagging at me. It acted similar to one of my first inventions—the most dangerous. Similar in method, yes, but there was no way it could have affected an area this size. Plus, I had torn the thing apart!

  It was also what caused Moortlin to invite me to the Society, despite the accident. Despite me losing all I held dear.

  I leaned against a bookshelf. It was not the same. ‘Harmonic resonances’ was just a fancy way of saying different actions were amplified by each other. I had the idea to link Systems people used into one big mechanism. Imagine being able to control heat, water, and power sources in one System. People could even have carried the resonator around with them, turning Systems off and on with a simple switch.

  However, mingling so many Systems proved unstable. Every time I used my invention, at least one of them failed. I thought I could fix it. I thought I could accommodate the fluctuations in the Grand Symphony all by myself.

  Right up until the day Abarham and my family died.

  I’d recycled some of the safer ideas into the concept of the System Beast, but I’d never touched the harmonic resonator again. I’d purposefully tried to forget it, after dismantling the device.

  “The resonator can’t have caused this.” My voice was weak, barely more than a whisper. I forced my hand away from fingering the groove below my right eye. “No one else knows how to use it, and it could never affect the whole mansion, unless modified greatly.”

  “One is not suggesting anything,” Moortlin said. “One knows this is a, hm, delicate subject. Merely that the mechanism is, hm, comparable.” My mentor was contrite, their eyes dim. “One is confident this one did not cause this disruption. All invited to the Society are personally interviewed, and one holds them in highest regard. That includes Mandamon Feldo.”

  “It had to be someone inside,” Gompt insisted. She was watching me, warily. “But Mandamon has been with me. I don’t think he took the list of members, and he certainly couldn’t have moved Aegrino’s body.”

  “It wasn’t me,” I said, my voice a little stronger. “But I may have enabled whoever did this.” Gompt stepped back, but my mind was not on her.

  Where did I leave the pieces? When was the last time I saw it? I could not bring myself to completely destroy it, no matter what it had caused.

  “Then these ones must continue to investigate,” Moortlin said. “One must direct the maji in cleaning and repair of the mansion, and move those whose apartments have been affected.” They sighed again and unfolded thick fingers toward Gompt and I. “Please inform one the moment these ones find anything.”

  With that, the Benish stumped from the room, leaving me to stare at the spot on the floor where a dead body no longer lay. Gompt was watching me.

  Finally, I stared back. “It wasn’t me,” I repeated.

  She nodded. “I believe you. But Mandamon, you’ve had something that could cause this much destruction, just lying around?”

  “No. It couldn’t have done this.” I shook my head. “This would have required heavy modifications, by someone who knew what they were doing. It was supposed to help people.” My words were helpless.

  “Come on then,” Gompt said. “Let’s see if your gadget is still there before you work yourself even deeper into a funk. Maybe you’re keying yourself up for nothing.”

  We walked in silence to my room, on a lower floor, not far from the workshop. Broken wood, pipes, and people surrounded us. A plank from the ceiling had fallen in front of my door and my hand shook as I reached for it.

  So similar to the destruction in the accident, but on such a greater scale.

  Inside, I stared around, digging into the memories of where I’d left the resonator. I went to a cabinet on one wall, jerking open the doors and reaching for a lower drawer, kept closed since I had arrived in the mansion. There was dust inside the drawer, outlining two long shapes where there should have been pieces of my invention.

  I sank to the floor.

  PART FIVE

  Homebrew

  - What is the relation between a majus and their family? Would-be maji are often recognized early in life, as I was, and encouraged to live at their House in the Imperium. For maji who are still very young, the Council allows guardians to live with them. However, there is always a drive to separate the one who can hear the Symphony from those who can’t. This is counterintuitive, as maji are also encouraged to marry and have families. If a family or friend group such as mine becomes too large for the small apartments in the Houses of the Maji, that group is given a stipend from the Council to find a place to live nearby. This setup both insulates maji from the rest of the Great Assembly of Species, and incorporates them as progenitor of new family lines, setting the status of “majus” higher than other beings.

  Part of an essay on the social impact of the maji, by Timpomitnob Gompt, Watcher, of the Houses of Grace and Potential

  Gompt stood over me, paws on her hips, below her bandolier of tools. “It wasn’t you, Mandamon,” she said. “You didn’t do this. I don’t think you killed the Speaker, and I know you didn’t kill Aegrino. Someone stole your invention, and they made it do these horrible things. It must be someone inside the Society, whatever Moortlin says.”

  I shook my head. Could I have fixed the resonator and then blocked it out? I didn’t remember my studies for the ten-day after the accident. But that was two cycles ago, and it hadn’t happened again. At least I don’t think so.

  “Even if it wasn’t me, this couldn’t have happened without me,” I told my friend. “I am responsible, in some manner. Just like I was responsible when my parents and Abarham—” I cut off, my throat refusing to speak the words. Gompt was silent, and I thought she would agree with me. I looked up.

  Her face was scrunched, almost into a growl, her brows pulled low behind her glasses. I don’t know if she’d even heard me. “What is it?” I said, fearing her words would only be a condemnation.

  “Which person is liable to tinker with inventions that aren’t their own, make things work in a new manner, or neglect to tell others about their changes?”

  I didn’t even have to think. “Those are all things Kratitha does if…oh.” I rubbed my suddenly cold hands together. It made a sick kind of sense.

  The three of us had all been in each other’s rooms. We shared thoughts and designs constantly. I’m sure I’d mentioned my research on harmonic resonance at some point. Did I ever mention the controller wand? I looked to the empty drawer, where the lines free of dust sat like an accusation.

  I kept most of my work in the shop with the others. Aside from the cabinet, a writing desk with one stack of paper, my bed, and my closet, my room was empty. It would be
easy to find something hidden, especially for an inquisitive Pixie good at getting into where she didn’t belong.

  “Back to the workshop,” I said, and Gompt gave a sharp nod. It still didn’t make any sense. Why would Kratitha modify my resonator, then set it on herself? I couldn’t believe the Pixie could kill someone, and she abhorred destruction like the resonator caused.

  A few minutes later we were back in the chaos of our workshop, broken System Beasts lying as if they had fainted. Kratitha was not there.

  “Again? What is going on?” Gompt paced ahead, auras of brown and blue surrounding her. I was not sure what she was looking for in the Symphonies of Grace and Potential. From what I gathered about the combination we called an Archeologist, the House of Grace augmented patterns in music, revealing objects out of place or sequence in the House of Potential’s notes.

  “Here,” Gompt said, pointing to a small patch on the floor. She was near the inert Ethulina pullbeast, one hoof still raised. “I think this is Kratitha’s blood.”

  I moved closer. “She was bleeding from fighting against the System Beasts.”

  “This is different.” Gompt walked a few paces away. “Those drops start here, and spiral out as she fought.” Her furry fingers traced a spiral of brown droplets spread around the room, flung like a dance partner spinning around their mate. Now Gompt pointed them out, it was a beautiful pattern, in a way. I traced arcs and swirls with my hand, imagining the Pixie slipping impossibly between attackers, while delivering perfectly timed strikes.

  “But here,” Gompt drew my attention to the original spot, “this breaks the pattern, and there’s only one spot. It happened after everything else, probably after you and I left.”

  I let the Symphonies of Healing and Potential fill me, listening to notes curling around the brown stain. The measures were changing key, organic compounds oxidizing. The notes defining the energy quieted as the blood cooled, and there was a definite difference between this spot and others around the room.

  “I agree,” I said, frowning. “This blood was shed after the rest. She exerted herself and made her wounds bleed again.”

  “Or something was done to her?” Gompt suggested.

  “First you say Kratitha took my device, now someone else is responsible?” I crossed my arms. From the moment I saw Speaker Thurapo’s corpse this morning, nothing made sense. Had Aegrino cleaned the scene before he was killed in turn, or were Imperium guard on their way, even now? There was something missing.

  “I can’t believe she did all this, Mandamon,” Gompt said. She played with the frame of her glasses where Kratitha had fixed it. “She was fighting the System Beasts when we got here. Why would she have caused this chaos only to be attacked?”

  “Maybe she didn’t think it through. This is Kratitha we’re talking about.” But my words had no weight behind them.

  “Think what through?” Gompt asked. “Bringing down the mansion and the Society? Why would she do that? Her caste is dying off, Mandamon—you know that. This is the last place she has.”

  Just like me. I knew the Pixie was at odds with her people, but Gompt was closer to her than I was. I hadn’t known she was in exile.

  “So let’s find her,” I said. “Maybe she went to her room.”

  But Kratitha was not in her room, or in the medical facilities, or anywhere else in the mansion we could determine. Gompt and I met back in the workshop half a lightening later.

  “Was there anyone else in here?” We searched the workshop, with our eyes and the Symphonies, but the music of her passage was fading, and Kratitha seemed to have been the only one present.

  “She is of the House of Power,” I said. “Good at showing connections between places and things. Perhaps she realized something about the murders.”

  Gompt raised a finger. “Could she have linked the attack to someone removing Aegrino’s body?”

  “From down here? No idea.” I shrugged. “But she’s not in the mansion, and if she found something, then it’s more of a lead than we’ve had the whole time.” Maybe we’ll catch this killer today, after all.

  “How do we track her?” Gompt looked at me, and in concert, we turned to the pullbeast.

  “It’s made to follow orders,” I said. “I could adjust some of the gearing to process a ‘track’ command—it will only take a few minutes.”

  “And I can change the input System to accept a sample of Kratitha’s blood.” Gompt found a clean rag on a table, and gently mopped up the newest blood stain, absorbing as much as she could into the cloth.

  We worked for a time, both engrossed in our respective Symphonies, hearing the overlap in Potential as we changed notes of the same piece, but in different places. Occasionally, the Symphony would resist when we both tried to change notes the same way.

  It took another few minutes to restart the Ethulina and align its components, and I felt as if the time added to the weight of my chronograph. It pulled against my vest pocket. Outside, light from the walls of the Nether faded as, inside, lights grew brighter. Each illumination was surrounded by a glow of orange and brown—Systems created from the Houses of Potential and Power.

  “Just need to tighten the servos on the neck a bit farther,” I told Gompt as I made a half-turn with a screwdriver. “There.”

  We stepped back. The System Beast had marks on its flanks that hadn’t been there before the attack, and Gompt had installed a device of metal and wood at the pullbeast’s neck that could process the music in the cloth containing Kratitha’s blood. It wasn’t pretty, and we would have to remove our additions before showing it to the Assembly, but it would work.

  “I was hoping she’d be back by now,” Gompt said, “waltzing in here like a giant honeybee, halfway through our work, telling us how we were wasting our time.” The Festuour fiddled her glasses straight again, and wiped oily paws on a rag. There was a streak of grease matting the fur in a line across her chest.

  I looked down at my own clothes—still the same ruffled shirt, cravat, and vest I had worn to my interview with the Speaker this morning, though there was a streak of grease across my front where I had leaned over the Ethulina. I might never get them clean again. At least I had removed my coat while I worked. I retrieved it from a nearby chair.

  “Then we’d best hope this can find her.” I reached for the access panel on the neck and flipped a toggle. The System supplying energy completed its circuit, and I danced back as the Ethulina pullbeast sprang to life, snorting and pawing as a real creature would. Neither of us had deactivated the System that made the Beast imitate the genuine animal.

  The pullbeast flicked its mane of crystal and snorted dust, then lifted its head as if it smelled something, and trotted out of the room.

  Gompt and I scrambled to follow, she tugging her bandolier of pouches tighter, me shrugging into my coat. At least it hadn’t attacked us again.

  The Ethulina trotted down the corridors, metal hooves clumping on the wood planking. Other maji, still trying to fix broken walls, pipes, and ceilings, shifted to let us past. Given the day’s events, it was little wonder a few of them stared.

  Our creation led us to the front of the mansion, sniffing at cross-corridors, then through the front doors and down the path to the street. Outside, birds sang quietly in the evening air. The trees on either side cast faint shadows from the dimming walls of the Nether, which stretched far overhead, purple and blue and semi-translucent. I took in a deep breath, grateful for the freshness of the air. The destruction in the mansion had kicked up dust older than I was.

  So she did leave. What did Kratitha find?

  From outside, the mansion appeared as any other residence belonging to the elite of the Nether, who often chose Poler as a home away from the bustle of the Imperium. Poler had never achieved the greatness of its cousin, though it was in as favorable a position, nestled beneath two of the massive walls that both boxed in and lit the Nether.

  The wrought iron gate at the end o
f the cobbled path separated the mansion from the street, and the Ethulina paused impatiently, one hoof pawing, for me to unlock the gate.

  “Gompt, look here,” I said, pointing to the carved teak ball, wide as my two hands together, hung from a hook on the central arch above the gate, nestled in a little cup. Metal inlay swirled around it, some hanging just above the surface of the object.

  The home of the Society was protected from notice by a complex System that influenced anyone approaching into rethinking their path. It had been designed hundreds of cycles ago by a particularly gifted member of the Society. I once spent a ten-day researching it, but gained little insight into how it worked.

  One had to turn the sphere off briefly to exit the gate, but the sphere was already dark, inert. Usually it shone to a majus’ eyes with all six colors of the houses of the maji.

  “Someone’s been through here, and one who doesn’t care about the secrecy of the Society,” Gompt growled.

  People will notice a sprawling mansion rising from nothing in a day.

  A movement caught my eye. An elderly Lobath was out for a stroll, but he’d dropped the leash to his tentacled pet and was staring toward the mansion.

  Oh no. “We need to get the sphere working again, and quickly,” I said, rising up on my toes to reach the dull sphere. My hands froze a finger width away from the surface. That’s odd.

  Gompt peered around me. “What is it?”

  “The System is still activated,” I said.

  “But it’s off.”

  “Exactly.” I unhooked the sphere entirely from its stand. The Symphony of Potential floated around it, but the music sounded like someone had forgotten to play part of the piece. I couldn’t detect the Symphony of Healing, either. I held it out to Gompt, raising my eyebrows in a question.

  She cocked her head, as if listening. “The House of Grace isn’t a part of the System any longer.”

  “Something is very broken in this sphere, and it’s the only thing keeping out the neighbors.” A chill clawed at my chest. If we can’t turn it back on, I don’t know who could recreate its protection. Does Moortlin know how? The Society will be exposed even if we find the list!