Against the Unweaving

by D. P. Prior

  Frayn nodded absently and then sat up, a hard expression coming over his face.

  “Governor,” Cadman continued, “do you recall the coughing plague amongst the Barraiya Dreamers? Easily eradicated with a simple potion and thus no need for a—What’s the right word? Cull?”

  “Excellent work, for which you’ve been more than rewarded.” Zara Gen swished his ponytail. “But if the solution is as easy this time, why have you done nothing?”

  Cadman spread his hands and sighed. “No more potion.”

  “This is hardly the same as the coughing plague,” Stoofley faced Zara Gen. “The symptoms are quite different: no fluid-filled lungs, no organ failure. I very much doubt the same formula would work in this case. It is my considered—”

  “Do we have the means of procuring the potion?” Zara Gen waved Stoofley to silence.

  Cadman stuck out his bottom lip and shook his head. “Without the right technology the potion couldn’t be analyzed. It’s hard to say what constituted it.” Though I could hazard a guess. “If only we had access to Aeterna’s libraries I’m sure we could build instruments with which to study the bacillus and manufacture a cure.”

  “If only!” Stoofley threw up his hands. “This is all rather spurious. Technology! Bacilluses! Utter rubbish.”

  “Actually, it’s bacilli,” Cadman said. “Don’t they teach Aeternam at med school anymore?”

  Dan Torpin guffawed loudly. “If they did they’d soon have their tongues cut out, eh, Master Frayn.”

  “Oh yes.” Frayn gave a self-satisfied smile.

  “So,” Zara Gen said, “unless we invade Nousia and commandeer the libraries of Aeterna, this idea of a curative potion is about as useful as fairy dust.”

  Cadman leaned forward and tapped his nose with his index finger. “Know thine enemy, Governor; that’s the point I’m making. We may not have the potion, but we do know, from our dealings with the coughing plague, that the cure was aimed at a bacillus: a bacillus that spread through water droplets and other bodily fluids. What we need are masks, gloves, and fires to incinerate any materials that may have come into contact with the plague. We need to isolate the victims and cordon off the areas where there’s been an outbreak. The people,”—bless them—“must be educated in hand hygiene, advised to avoid crowds, and made to wear masks or scarves at all times.”

  Zara Gen nodded at Lallia to make sure she was getting all this down. “And what if it doesn’t work, Doctor? What do we do next?”

  “We burn Sarum, street by street.”

  There was a hushed silence as they considered the enormity of what Cadman was suggesting.

  The poor fools are so desperate they’ll believe anything.

  “Shall we move on to other matters?” Zara Gen said. “Master Frayn?”

  Frayn cracked his knuckles and then hid his hands beneath the table at the looks he received. “My superiors asked me to raise the matter of the Templum of the Knot, Governor.” Frayn’s eyes flitted to Dan Torpin and back to Zara Gen. Torpin was sitting bolt upright, apparently much more riveted by this turn of conversation than he’d been by the plague. “They feel that our imperially sanctioned work in this respect is being impeded.”

  “Do they now?” Zara Gen scratched underneath his ponytail.

  “Actually,” Torpin said, “this was one of the reasons for my visit.”

  “Was it, indeed?” Zara Gen said.

  “Elsewhere, the Nousian threat has been rooted out,” Torpin said. “The Sicarii have been given free-rein in all the major West Sahulian cities and now, besides a smattering of hermits in the jungles outside Gladelvi, only the Pardes community and your lot remain.”

  “My lot?”

  “Forgive me, Governor. The Templum of the Knot. My master, Duke Farian, has been commissioned by the emperor to bring this project to a close. His Grace is a little concerned about the tardiness of the Sicarii’s work in Sarum. Upon my arrival—” Torpin exchanged looks with Frayn. “—I met with senior guild-members and discovered that they were being hampered in their task by the City Militia.”

  Captain Harding’s face grew a shade redder, but he continued to sit like a statue as if none of this concerned him.

  “There is a time for everything,” Zara Gen said, “and it is my belief that the Templum of the Knot is best left alone right now.” He raised a hand to silence Torpin’s protests. “Dr. Stoofley, do the priests not operate an infirmary for victims of the plague?”

  “They do, Governor, and a very good one, if it might say so.”

  “Is there anything unusual about their infirmary, Doctor?”

  Cadman’s attention pricked at that. He flipped a cigarette into his mouth and let it hang there unlit.

  “Well, Governor,” Stoofley said, “it’s come to my attention that the priests tend the victims without any of the precautions my colleague Dr. Cadman just mentioned, and yet, unlike the nurses at our own hospitals, they do not grow sick.”

  Interesting.

  “You think they have Aeterna-tech?” Zara Gen directed the question at Cadman.

  “It’s possible,” Cadman shrugged. “But not very likely. Maybe they have better hand-washing skills and encourage their patients to cover their mouths when coughing.” Or maybe there’s a hint in all this about the nature of the affliction and its associated risk factors. Purity, after all, is not solely attained by ablutions. “The victims—” Cadman turned to Stoofley. “—do they share any common factors?”

  Stoofley rubbed his chin for a moment before replying. “The first victims were from the docks, but the plague quickly spread through Dalantle’s whores. We assumed it had passed from the sailors and spread like the clap, only then it decimated the business district and some of the poorer suburbs. I can see the connection between sailors, whores and the riff-raff of Calphon, but that doesn’t account for bankers and some of our most respected merchants.”

  “All very fascinating,” Dan Torpin cut in, “but is this any reason to obstruct an imperial command?”

  Zara Gen stood. “This is not a matter of obstruction, Mr. Torpin, and if I hear any further suggestions to the contrary you’ll be removed from this meeting. Is that understood?”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Captain Harding,” Zara Gen snapped.

  Harding clapped a hand on Torpin’s shoulder. “Is there going to be any more trouble?” he growled.

  Torpin glowered and shook his head.

  “Good,” Zara Gen said. “Then perhaps we can move on. The Templum of the Knot, as far as I’m concerned, is providing an invaluable service during a time of crisis. Once the threat to Sarum has passed we will, I’m sure, cooperate all the more diligently with the emperor’s decrees. Next.” He glanced at Lallia’s notepad. “Something about the sewers is it, Master Frayn?”

  “One word, gentlemen,” Frayn said, standing and making a pyramid of his fingers. “Mawgs.”

  Well, that was dramatic.

  “One of my people encountered them in the sewers; a scouting party most likely. All dead now.”

  Zara Gen’s face was ashen. “Mawgs beneath Sarum? Captain Harding, how many men can we spare?”

  “We’ve barely enough to man the watch; but in an emergency we could reduce the patrols.”

  Zara Gen shook his head, deep furrows etched into his brow. “Not with the plague; the looting would be terrible. I will not stand for anarchy.”

  “Already in hand,” Frayn said, folding himself smugly into his seat. “I’ve dispatched a team to deal with the threat.”

  “Good, Master Frayn, good,” Zara Gen said. “How many?”

  “Six. All good men.”

  Dan Torpin sucked in his cheeks. “Awfully charitable of the guild to help out in a time of crisis, Master Frayn. What’s in it for you?”

  Frayn gave a lopsided grin. His cheek had started to twitch beneath his right eye. “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Torpin: cash. If the city falls, the Sicarii might well survive, but who would be
left to pay us? We’d have no choice but to move north. Much as Jorakum’s a great city, it’s too darned humid. I couldn’t see the lads taking to it without going troppo.”

  Troppo! The inventiveness of the Sahulian vernacular never ceases to amaze me. I really must start a dictionary of neologisms.

  “Six men, you say?” Zara Gen had a finger to his lips. “Is that enough?”

  “All depends on how many mawgs they find,” Frayn said. “They’re experienced men. Once they know what they’re up against they’ll send word. I will personally keep you updated, Governor.”

  “Tell your colleagues I’m in their debt. Yours too, Master. You have my thanks.”

  Frayn could barely keep the smile from his face. He sat back, folding his arms across his chest and doing his best to look nonchalant.

  “Moving on,” Zara Gen said with another glance at Lallia’s pad. He squinted and queried her with a look of bewilderment. Lallia leaned in, perhaps a bit closer than was absolutely necessary, Cadman thought, and whispered in his ear.

  “Ah, yes, Captain Harding. What’s all this about trouble at the Arch?”

  Harding stood to attention and addressed Zara Gen in a parade ground bark, cheeks reddening further by the second. “A troop of cavalry arrived from—”

  “About time, too!” Torpin said, flinging himself back in his chair. “Help from Jorakum. I knew it!”

  “From the villages,” Harding pressed on. “They seem to have had a bit of a run-in with the imperial troops cordoning off the city.”

  “Cordoning off!” Torpin threw himself forward. “You make it sound like a quarantine!”

  Zara Gen pulled his ponytail so hard Cadman thought it might come off. “Well, it is, isn’t it? What else would you call it?”

  A ring o’ roses?

  “Merely a precaution,” Torpin said through gritted teeth. “The emperor is trying to help.”

  “If you want my opinion,” Cadman said, finally giving in and lighting his cigarette to the accompaniment of glares from Lallia and coughs from Stoofley, “he’s doing just the right thing: containing the plague until it either runs its course or starves when there’s no more fodder left for it to feed on. I’d do the same, unless of course I had access to the medicines of the Ancients, or whatever it is that grants the priests immunity.”

  Zara Gen shot Cadman a furious look before turning back to Harding. “What kind of a run-in?”

  “Their leader says they had to fight their way in. Lost a few men, but not nearly as many as the enemy.”

  “This is intolerable!” Torpin banged his fist on the table. “Enemy? You are talking about your emperor’s loyal soldiers.”

  “A figure of speech, sir,” Harding said. “I merely meant ‘opposition’.”

  Zara Gen muttered something to Lallia who stood and walked towards the door. Torpin hadn’t quite finished yet.

  “And you, Captain,” he almost spat at Harding, “find it acceptable that so-called cavalry from the provinces attack imperial troops?”

  “No, sir, I do not, but—”

  “But what?”

  “Well…” Harding looked at Zara Gen. “They’re here. Thought perhaps we could use their help.”

  The door opened and Lallia ushered inside the youth Cadman had passed on his way in.

  “Governor,” Harding said, “this is Gaston Rayn of Oakendale.”

  “Thank you, Captain. Oakendale, eh?” Zara Gen gestured for the young knight to take the seat beside Cadman. “Farmer?”

  “My father used to be.”

  “He’s retired?”

  “Dead. Killed by some low-life scum working for the emperor.”

  Torpin stood so violently that his chair crashed to the floor. “How dare you! Governor, I will not stand for this scurrilous outrage!”

  “Then shut up and sit down!” Zara Gen’s shout was as stunning as a sledgehammer to the head.

  Lallia dropped her pencil and ducked under the table to find it. Cadman took a long drag on his cigarette and surreptitiously tapped the ash onto the carpet. Harding rather graciously righted Torpin’s chair for him and then they both re-seated themselves. Torpin’s eyes were fixed on his fingers, and no doubt flaming with ire.

  Master Frayn was back to twiddling his mustache, studying the lad as if he were trying to work out which one of his men had committed the murder.

  “You say your name is Rayn? Your father was Bovis Rayn?” Zara Gen said.

  The youth looked partway between shock and rage, neither giving much sway to self-control. Cadman was starting to like him.

  “You knew him?”

  “Knew of him. Heard him speak once. A Nousian, as I see are you.” Zara Gen flicked a look at the others around the table. “Made quite a name for himself. Perhaps a bit too much of a name. Tell me, Gaston—may I call you Gaston? What brings you to Sarum?”

  “The Templum of the Knot. I must go to them.”

  Torpin looked up at that, but he didn’t risk opening his mouth.

  “For what purpose?” Zara Gen asked.

  “I was told they’re in danger. I was also told to look for my old master, Deacon Shader.”

  “The monk? I’d heard he’d gone back to Pardes after the beating. Terrible affair, that. You remember it, Captain Harding?”

  Harding grunted beneath his mustache. “Don’t suppose I’ll forget it any time soon, Governor.”

  Gaston frowned and shook his head. “He left the abbey after that; came to Oakendale and drove the mawgs out. That’s when he founded my Order.”

  “And then left you?” Torpin finally found the courage to speak. “Tell me, Mr. Rayn, was your master in contact with Aeterna? If I’m not very much mistaken, he’s encouraged you to dress like the Templum Elect.”

  Yes, I was wondering about that. Uncannily like the surcoat Callixus wears, although without the cobwebs and the odor of decay.

  “He returned to Aeterna for a tournament; I’ve not seen him since. Shader once served with the Elect. May do again as far as I’m aware. He wanted us to be like them, only better.”

  “Better how?” Torpin asked. “Better at infiltrating Sahulian cities and paving the way for a Templum invasion? That’s what the emperor’s going to think.”

  Gaston turned to Cadman, who shrugged and puffed smoke in his face.

  “Better spiritually,” Gaston said with a cough. “Better morally.” He hung his head as he said the last word and that piqued Cadman’s interest immeasurably more than anything that had been discussed so far.

  Torpin’s confidence was returning with irritating rapidity. “Governor, I propose that this man and his so-called Order be arrested on grounds of treason.”

  Zara Gen held up his hands. “Mr. Torpin—”

  “I absolutely insist! Nousian knights attacking imperial troops and entering one of our cities! It’s unthinkable. When the emperor hears of this he’ll want them all hanged.”

  At an almost imperceptible nod from Zara Gen, Master Frayn flowed from his chair and drifted around the table. Torpin showed no sign of having noticed.

  “In fact, if we do nothing, he’ll have us all hanged, or worse. Now do I have to remind you—gurgh!”

  Torpin was dragged over the back of his seat with Frayn’s arm around his neck. In one fluid movement, Frayn flipped him on his front and snapped him in a wrist-lock.

  “Captain?” Frayn invited Harding to take the other arm.

  Zara Gen gave a curt nod and the captain and the guildmaster escorted Torpin from the room.

  “Lallia,” Zara Gen said, “would you mind showing Dr. Stoofley to his carriage; I think our meeting has reached its natural end. Thank you for your input, Doctor, and let me assure you I’ll take your suggestions very seriously indeed.”

  “But—”

  “Goodbye. Oh, and Lallia, please close the door behind you.”

  Zara Gen waited until their footsteps had faded before getting up to perch on the edge of the table. “The greatest attribute a politi
cian can have is to be able to empty a room when things must be said in secret.”

  Gaston was wide-eyed and fidgety, but Cadman was intrigued. Slipping his hand under the table, he dropped his cigarette stub on the carpet and ground it underfoot.

  “It may be that we can help each other.” Zara Gen placed a hand on Gaston’s shoulder. “I am keen that no harm should befall the Templum of the Knot.” He raised a finger to prevent Cadman from asking the obvious question. “My reasons are my own, but as you will no doubt one day learn, Gaston, all reasons are political. I also have a militia very much depleted by the plague and could use some extra manpower. In return I’ll protect you from Hagalle’s people and give you quarters at the barracks. Does this sound acceptable to you? Good. Excellent.

  “Dr. Cadman, if the priests of the Templum are immune to this plague I want to know why. Take Gaston to see them; talk with them, observe them, and give me something I can use. If we can end the plague, Gaston—and that’s a big ‘if’ —you may have some bargaining power with Hagalle. Once the quarantine’s lifted he’s bound to send more troops, and when he does your best hope will be our account of your part in the saving of Sarum.”

  Zara Gen held the door open, but gestured for Cadman to wait. “One last thing, Gaston.” The lad paused in the doorway, eyes like dinner plates, cheeks the color of a boiled lobster. “Who told you the Templum of the Knot was in danger?”

  “Friend of Shader’s.” Gaston looked like he couldn’t wait to leave. Poor boy was utterly out of his depth. “A philosopher called Aristodeus.”

  Zara Gen gave Cadman a quizzical look and received a shrug in return. “Thank you, Gaston.” The governor almost squashed the lad against the jamb of the door as he shut him out of the room.

  “Doctor.” Zara Gen inclined his head so that he could whisper. “I recently received an unusual visitor to my office. Were you made aware?”

  One, two, three.

  “I see that you were.” Zara Gen rubbed his chin and tutted. “Absolute discretion, I said, and yet virtually the whole staff of Arnbrook House seems to know my business. If Hagalle should find out about my meeting with Jarmin the Anchorite my head will be on a spike at the top of the Tower of Glass. My people tell me Jarmin never made it out of the city. I suspect the Sicarii got him. Ain knows they’ll probably come for me next, although Frayn’s playing it close to his chest if that’s the case. Have you heard anything?”