Chapter Five
Within the crowded, high-ceilinged chamber of the Records Hall the din of shouting voices reverberated as workers, nobles and merchants haggled with pasty-faced bureaucrats over interpretation of the Emperor’s laws. Lit by crystal-lidded candle-lamps and streams of morning sunlight arcing in through the skylights high above, the hundreds of mingling men and women seemed so many bees in the hive, conducting their ritual dance shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, to perform the myriad intricacies of their monarch’s rule.
In the heart of the buzzing chaos, Davin stood at Rajon’s side as the official behind the desk read through the length of their petition, then consulted Rajon’s thousand- noble note drawn from the Banker’s office for authenticity and accuracy. Davin, just out of the barber shop, looked neat and prim. Dressed in a smart blue vest, white gentleman’s shirt and a pair of black pants and slightly uncomfortable shoes, for the first time he felt like he might pass for a member of the upper class. Rajon beside him wore a striped vest, a black cuffed shirt and freshly pressed trousers, the vision completed by the stunning red gentleman’s cape he wore over his shoulders. With the laces on his shoes tied impeccably, he also wore his black top hat and carried his cane at his side for both protection and dramatic effect.
Shivering with anticipation, Davin kept his eyes down as the man turned the parchment page and read through the final words. Seemingly satisfied, he fingered the wax seal, and even tasted his fingertips to ensure the wax was fresh. Finally, he looked up at Rajon, then over at Davin, astonished by what he’d just read.
“One thousand nobles?” the old man asked. “One thousand nobles spent to earn a title for a bankrupt lineage, without land or inheritance?”
“Yes, sir,” Davin said.
“Hmmph,” he replied, as he held Davin’s lineage record up to the light, checking for watermarks. “We get one of you in here every couple of months. A bastard turned from the wrong side of the bed, come to play dress-up with those above your station.” He looked up at Rajon, and tapped the writ with an ink-stained finger. “But this is a first even for me after thirty years in the bureaucratic service. This won’t be worth the spent coin, I guarantee it.”
“I beg to differ.” Rajon said coldly. “Now get on with it.”
“Once a factory slave, always a factory slave,” the official said, noting the blue cog tattoo on the back of the boy’s hand. But even through his obvious disdain, he still pulled out a heavy stamp from the drawer, dipped the face of it in a tray of black ink, and rolled a series of marks on the page with a practiced turn of the wrist.
“A slave no longer,” Davin replied, but only after the bureaucrat had blotted the ink dry and scribbled his authority on the proper line of the seal. “Today I’m my own man.”
“Let me give you one piece of advice,” the bureaucrat said to Davin, even as he rolled up and passed over the stack of documents. “No one is ever free.”
“I’ll decide the value of free,” Davin said, as he tucked the scroll of papers inside his vest with finality, trying to fight down a smile brimming with victory. While he would still need to visit the Inker Guild to get his tattoo augmented, so it showed his true sign and station, the papers filed with the Hall of Records were enough to satisfy his claim. He just wished that his mother and Yori had lived to see this moment, to see him ascend to Mercuri’s line.
“Davin zan DeLorenzo,” Rajon said with just a hint of a smile, addressing Davin with all the poise at his command. “Shall we lunch?”
“I’d be honored,” Davin said, and turned to let Rajon lead the way. But as the gambler stepped forth and started to push his way through the crowd, the bureaucrat reached out and caught Davin by the sleeve, holding him back just for a moment.
“Don’t trust him,” he whispered. “You’re not the first youngling the Vulture has brought to my desk for title. He takes what he wants, and has no pity upon those who fall behind in the dust.”
“I know his nature,” Davin said, his bright smile withering under the look of cold pity showing in the old man’s eyes.
“I doubt you do,” he said, still clinging to Davin’s sleeve, “but I honestly hope you live long enough to learn from the mistake.”
“Mind your own business,” Davin said angrily as he wrenched his arm free. Stalking after Rajon into the crowd, in his heart, he knew his course was set like the River Dob, amongst the high banks of his own destiny.
.oOo.
“This isn’t quite where I was expecting to go for lunch,” Davin said, as he looked up at the walls of Saints’ Abbey. With its high stained glass windows, smooth cobble courtyards and flapping green pennants marked with the fourteen crests of the Fallen Saints, the Abbey had marked its spot through three lineages of rulers and nearly four hundred years of war and strife mostly intact. While it was beautiful in the early afternoon sunlight, it was also a haunting structure, a legacy to an older time when men were hanged and witches burned for the slightest offense against the Stonehearted Kings. By common belief, the Emperor’s rule had brought the country back into the light, replacing many of the old ways with a host of new and civilized practices.
“Time is short,” Rajon said, as he led the approach towards the row of doors that opened into the main foyer. “The same spies that knew you checked the registry likely know that you’re alive by now, and probably know that you have bought your title.”
Waiting outside the church, Verona tilted her feathered hat slightly against the morning sun. Compared to the gentleman’s clothes she wore last night, her high-collared blue patterned dress white gloves and long skirts transformed her into the semblance of a lady of the upper class. Ever since Davin first saw her this morning, he’d been having a hard time keeping his eyes off of her.
As the men approached, Verona looked at Davin and nodded approvingly. “Once a lad, now a gentleman all in the passing of a banker’s note.”
“Don’t be rude,” Rajon told her. “It’s a special day for Davin. We just need to upstairs now and claim the prize.”
“Yes, but what makes you think Guiseppe is going to give up the goods to Davin with you standing there? It’s not like the two of you are exactly on good terms.”
“I’m entitled,” Davin said. “It’s been waiting for me for the last seven years. That’s all that matters.”
“That it does,” Rajon said with a trace of a smile. The square that led into the heart of the abbey had a few petitioners and visitors scattered here and there, including a number of priests handing out hunks of bread and bowls of soup to the poor. But Rajon seemed satisfied that there was no sign of any spies or watchers by the gates, and he led their way boldly into the interior of the grand structure.
Inside, amidst high arching columns, age-weathered wooden sculptures, and high chandeliers big enough to hold a hundred candles, was a glorious space devoted to the worship of the Fourteen Saints. With paintings and portraits adorning every few feet of wall space, the large room had the peace and feel of a shrine, where people of all ages and faiths could come and quaintly meditate upon the lessons of those who had given their lives out of love for the virtues of humanity.
As Davin blushed at a picture of Saint Saphora’s rape, with her shirt torn all the way open by the blade of an unjust man, a older brown-robed priest came down a staircase to where they were standing, bearing a quizzical, irritated look on his face.
“May I help you with something?” the priest asked.
“I wish to see Father Guiseppe,” Davin stated.
“You wish to see Father Guiseppe?” the priest asked, as if he was a little hard of hearing.
“That’s what he said,” Rajon reinforced.
“I have private business with the Father,” Davin said.
“I see that,” the priest said, giving Rajon a more-than-suspicious glance. “Your name?”
“Davin zan DeLorenzo.”
The priest blinked, twice. “Of the inventor’s line?”
“Yes,” Davi
n replied politely.
“I wasn’t sure if there weren’t many of those left.”
“There aren’t,” Rajon said, interrupting the line of questioning. “We would like to attend to matters today. Before sundown. Preferably before the Old Father goes to bed.”
“Yes, yes,” the priest said, bowing. “My name is Father Altius. Davin, come, I will lead you to the Solarium.”
“We’re together,” Verona inserted. “All three of us.”
Altius pursed his lips, as he looked at the girl down the bridge of his nose, then made a funny moaning noise in the back of his throat. “Of course you are,” he said, and then turned away dismissively. “Please follow me.”
Following behind the priest as he slowly made his way back up the stairs, Davin marveled at the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows above them, coloring the stairs beneath his feet with amber, emerald, and sapphire hues. Atop the stairs, as they made their way along a high balcony over the Hall of Saints, Davin could smell incense and old dust in the air, and could just barely hear a quiet susurrus of voices talking from somewhere down below. When he glanced behind him for a moment he saw that Rajon was obviously untouched by the display, but Verona was just as awed by the impressive scene as Davin was.
At the end of the balcony, Altius led them beneath a low stone arch and down a hallway into a different part of the building, one lined with worn velvet benches and faded portraits of priests and kings long dead. Opening a door, the old man ushered them into a room lit by the sun’s own brilliance, where Father Guiseppe sat alone at the head of a long table big enough to seat a whole suite of counselors. Dressed in a long white robe with a braided green rope belt bound at his waist, he was the oldest man Davin had ever seen, with a nest of whiskers and beard thick enough to hide a family of mice for days.
“Father,” Altius said, scraping low before his master. “You have guests.”
“I see that,” Guiseppe said.
“Davin zan DeLorenzo,” Rajon announced, the old family name rolling smoothly off of his aristocratic tongue.
“Well, that’s a title I haven’t heard for a while,” Guiseppe answered. As Altius turned to go, Guiseppe clicked his tongue sharply, and gestured with his cane towards a bench by the door. “Stay, Altius. I may have need of you.”
“I am required in the kitchens,” Altius stated, nearly whining with his displeasure.
“You swore an oath to serve, so for once in your life start doing it,” Guiseppe stated. “Sit down and wait. This will only take a moment.”
Altius’ eyes darted back and forth from Rajon to Davin and back again, until he finally grunted acknowledgement. With a crackle of his hips, the old man settled down on the bench, looking like he wanted to be anywhere in the world but here.
“Now,” Guiseppe said, even as he shoved out the chair next to him with his cane. “Davin, you sit here, so an old man can hope to see your face. The other two of you, sit wherever you like.” Davin obediently took the chair, and scooted as close as he dared to the clergy. “Good. Now, if memory serves correct, young man, I may have something of yours.”
“You do, sir. Aside from having my father buried here, you also have my father’s personal effects.”
“You’re Vincent’s bastard son,” Guiseppe said, nodding. “There’s only one of you?”
“Only one to my knowledge, sir.” Davin took out the papers of proof from his vest and started to unseal them, but Guiseppe put a trembling, paper-light hand on the back of young man’s hand.
“No need for that, son. I know your voice; I can hear your father in your tongue. I know you speak the truth.”
“I am a noble, today,” Davin said. “And while my title carries little in the way of property or gold, I want to carry on my family’s name. I am hoping that my father’s funerary goods will allow me some small step along that path.”
“Did you ever know your grandfather?”
“Umm, no, sir,” Davin replied, almost not knowing how to reply. “He died before I was born. I barely knew my father.”
“He was a marvelous man, Mercuri. An inventor and a gentleman from a gentler time. His estate, before it was parceled and sold off by your father to pay off his gambling debts, was a beautiful place filled with moving statues and eternal streams. Time and time again, I counseled your father that he was worth far better than his choice of companions, and that even a scrap of the old estate was worth more than anything he could ever win in a card game. But now, he’s gone, and here you are, seeking your fortune for the better.”
“Yes,” Davin said.
“Now,” Guiseppe said, seemingly satisfied, turned in his seat and looked to Altius. “Now you can leave. Close the door behind you. I don’t want you lollygagging in the halls.”
“Thank you,” Altius said, with the relief plain on his face. Following the old man’s orders, he left the room, and Davin watched as he carefully closed the Solarium door behind him.
“We don’t have much time,” Guiseppe said when the door was finally latched. “That man started in my service the day after your father died, the day that I took in Vincent’s last possessions to safeguard them for the future. I don’t trust him more now than the first day he showed up, but I don’t have the authority to remove him from my service with anything less than a blow to the head with a sharp rock, an act which the Saints would find significantly appalling.”
“I know his type,” Rajon said. “Perhaps he might have a fall or something...”
“Don’t court blasphemy!” Guiseppe barked out at the gambler. “Or temptation...” he said to himself a bit more quietly as he smoothed out the folds in his sleeves.
Davin looked back at Rajon, who sat in his chair like he was made of impassive stone, then to Verona, who looked like she was going to explode out of her seat in a shower of sparks at any moment. “So, what is it? What do you have kept safe for me?”
“Wonders,” Guiseppe said, standing with an unsteady gesture. Reaching under the collar of his robe, he lifted out an old ornate whistle on a silver chain. Lifting it off over his head, he handed the object to Davin.
“But...” Davin said, not understanding.
“It’s the key to the Archives,” Rajon said, earning Guiseppe’s nod. “You’re trusting us with a relic entrusted to you by the Church.”
“Yes.”
“We’re already in a race with Altius, aren’t we?” Rajon asked.
“Yes, you are,” Guiseppe replied, much to Davin’s surprise. “Now, you go down there, with my grace, and you fetch me the contents of box... now, what was it...” He thought for a moment, and then ticked his index finger against the tabletop, trying his best to dredge up a memory long secured against time and idle conversation.
“One six one eight naught three four,” he whispered, right into Davin’s ear, even as he let the slithery, snake-like length of chain pool into the palm of Davin’s cupped hands. “I hope that’s it, anyway,” he said in a more normal tone of voice. “It’s been so long. If it’s not that one, then just sing into all the ones around it and you’ll find what you’re looking for. And never forget...”
“Never forget what?” Davin asked, even as Rajon and Verona got up from their chairs, Verona lifting her skirts in preparation for a full-out run.
Guiseppe lightly touched his fingers to Davin’s breastbone. “Never forget what’s inside you son. It’s worth more than all the inventions in the Empire, and it was the source behind Mercuri’s greatest creations, great or small.”
“What’s inside me?” Davin asked.
“Magic!” the old priest whispered, even as Rajon started to drag an astonished Davin by the scruff of his neck towards the Solarium’s waiting door.
Chapter Six
Barreling back down the hallway at a full run, Davin ran step for step with Verona, with Rajon following close behind. As they made their way through the Abbey, priests and passerby stared at them, shocked at the sight of adults on a full-out run through
such an old, sacred building. In between moments of dodging clergy, Davin barely had time to make out the statues, paintings and reflecting pools that marked some of Agora’s oldest heritage at such breakneck speed. All he could do was try to keep ahead of Rajon’s prodding, and to prevent Verona from tripping him with her bustling skirts as they navigated the turns, corridors and staircases as fast as their feet could take them.
“Where are the Archives?” Davin yelled.
“Downstairs,” Rajon yelled back. “All the way down. We make a left up here and go down the servant’s stairwell. All the way down to the bottom.”
“And, how exactly do you know all this?” Davin asked.
“He’s been here a lot,” Verona said, even as she cut ahead of Davin and made her way down the tight stone spiral staircase with a flutter of skirts and deliciously bare ankles. “Orphans, spinsters and butchers, the Empire is full of disinherited nobles who will do just about anything for a piece of the good life.”
“You’ll give away our trade secrets,” Rajon scolded from behind. “Now, be quiet and save your breath for the run.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Don’t call me that!” Rajon growled, even as Verona turned her head and gave Davin a playful, knowing wink.
Once they reached the bottom of the winding stairs, they turned left past a shuttered library, then made their way through two more sets of low archway doors. Beyond the final arch, gasping for breath, the three of them burst into a large underground room, lit by lanterns tucked along the walls every few steps, illuminating the barrels and boxes of wine, water, supplies and foodstuffs stacked up to the ceiling in every imaginable order and combination. Now Rajon fully took the lead, and led the rush through the bewildering maze of boxes and barrels until the three of them skidded to a halt in front of a plain wooden door. Or, to Davin’s eye, what seemed a plain wooden door, until he saw the lantern light reflecting off of its metal face and the strands of silver ivy carved in relief by the hinges and handle.
The Fire Cage Page 6