The Unweaving

by D. P. Prior

  The one Shadrak had spotted wouldn’t have stood out from the crowd at all, if not for the way he went from person to person offering pieces of paper. Maybe there was still time, Shader thought, checking on the sky. Wispy fingers of mauve seemed to be clawing their way toward the city walls, but when he blinked, he realized it was a matter of perspective. The discoloration was still some way off.

  An old woman noticed him looking, touched her forehead and breast, grimaced, and lowered her hand.

  “Don’t look good, mister. Enjoy the sun whiles it lasts, I say.”

  Shader nodded, forced a smile. “Those men going through the crowd, who—”

  An earsplitting boom rocked the plaza. Shader instinctively ducked and clapped his hands to his ears. All about him people were running and screaming. He spun a circle, trying to locate the source of the blast, but there was nothing to be seen.

  Shadrak was staring up at the sky. “Just a clap of thunder. Don’t know what all the—”

  There was a second boom, and this time the assassin swore and covered his ears. “What the shog is it?”

  Out of nowhere, rain sheeted across the plaza. Shader sprinted for the shelter of a doorway at the edge of the square. Shadrak was close on his tail, but Nameless merely ambled after them at his own pace, seemingly oblivious to the rain pinging from his helm. Stalls were swiftly covered, and within minutes the square was empty.

  “Funny thing about this rain,” Nameless said catching up with them.

  “What?” Shadrak grumbled from beneath his hood. “It’s shogging wet?”

  “It’s falling sideways.”

  Lightning flashed, and a second or two later there was another thunderclap. A dust devil stirred up the center of the plaza, swirling to the height of a man before spinning into a covered stall and dispersing.

  Leaving the shelter of the doorway, Shader led the way down the avenue. Fierce winds were gusting, and it was all but impossible to look at the map. Dust got blown in his eye, and he blinked it clear. Up ahead, above the rooftops, he caught a glimpse of the smoke-billowing tower they’d spotted earlier.

  “Cotze’s Foundry.” He pointed it out to the others. “Must be near.”

  “Want my advice?” Shadrak said. “Follow the geezer in the hat.”

  A man in a long gray coat and a chimney-stack hat was picking his way along the sidewalk, completely unfazed by the weather. It was like he was in a bubble of sunshine and calm.

  “That a wizard?” Nameless asked. “Don’t see their kind in Arx Gravis, but I don’t mind telling you, this codger has put a creep in my crotch.”

  “Let’s follow,” Shader said. Besides Dr. Cadman and the Liche Lord’s lieutenants at Verusia, he’d no experience of wizards, either. They weren’t exactly common on Earth. About the only other magic he’d witnessed was from Huntsman and Sammy, and he still wasn’t sure that was magic. Then there was Elias and his music, of course. Poor old Elias.

  They followed the man down a series of backstreets. The architecture started to change in subtle ways the further they got from the plaza, but after a while the difference was startling. Twisty narrow buildings leaned precariously over cobbled streets. Flying buttresses and arched walkways crossed overhead, and many of the buildings had burnished turrets atop which flew flags of various designs: horse heads, skulls, green garlands, frogs, snakes, geometric shapes, pyramids of numbers. They passed a crooked house with a corrugated-roofed verandah. Two old men sat outside on rockers, absorbed in a game of cards. In front of another, an old woman leaned on a broom, scowling at the sky. She nodded as they passed, one eye roving other them, the other shut tight.

  “The Academy?” Shader asked.

  She cocked her head toward the far end of the street. “Left down Lovers’ Lane. Can’t miss it. Big bloody pile o’ bricks. All bleedin’ pillars and marble. Say, you watch yourself in there, boys. I mean, I tell you, her next door, she had a thing going with one of them student—”

  “Thank you,” Shader said, not wanting to linger.

  “Yeah, well, like I said, there was this student once. Nice to look at, if you know what I mean, but right sickly, he was. Anyhows, ol’ Mrs. Covey—”

  “Madam,” Nameless said with a bow. He clapped Shader on the shoulder and led him on down the street, Shadrak muttering under his breath behind them.

  The old woman waved her broom at them. “I was only trying to say—”

  “Anyone ever tell you, you stink of piss, lady?” Shadrak called back at her.

  “Why, you uncouth little runt. I’ve a good mind to—”

  “Hag,” Shadrak yelled. “Gap-toothed crone. Shogging frog-eating—”

  “That’s enough,” Shader said.

  “It’s enough when I say it is. Witch!”

  Nameless turned to face him. “Are you going to behave yourself when we get there, laddie, or do I have to leave you outside?”

  “Scu—” Shadrak started, but then thought better of it.

  The man in the tall hat was down the far end of Lovers’ Lane when they entered it. Shader redoubled his pace, but Nameless didn’t keep up with him.

  “What is it?” Shader cast over his shoulder.

  “Nothing, laddie.” Nameless waved him on. “I won’t be far behind.” His voice had dropped to a low monotone, each word chewed over and spat out with agonizing slowness.

  Shadrak glided off into the shadows beside the dwarf. He’d do his own thing, no doubt. Shader had given up worrying about where he was.

  He continued to the end of the lane, grimacing against the stench rising from the cobblestones. Rats scampered out of his way, burying themselves in moldering piles of refuse, or splashing through the dank water spilling from the gutters. Made you wonder what kind of lovers used this place. Maybe they should’ve heard the old woman out, after all.

  The lane ended at a wrought iron gate flowing with intricate whorls and vinework. It stood ajar, and the hinges moaned as Shader pushed through. The cobbles of the lane gave way to a mosaic pathway between banks of trellises interwoven with ivy and dotted with violet petals. After a stretch, the pathway opened onto an ornamental garden skirting a towering edifice. Harmonious pairings of rockeries and fountains, flowerbeds and herb gardens did their best to soften the looming gray facade of the Academy.

  Undeterred, Shader made his way to the broad stone steps leading to a colonnaded portico. Flying buttresses splayed from the sides of the building, like the legs of an enormous spider. Each story—there were seven in all—was surrounded by a stone balustrade, upon which sat gargoyles in various lewd poses. The windows were of stained glass, depicting men with the heads of beasts, retorts, crucibles, patterns of fire, water, air, and earth. Passing beneath the shade of the portico’s vaulted ceiling, he approached twin doors of polished oak, which stood open like an invitation.

  Shader frowned back at Nameless, who was trudging through the garden, great helm dipped toward his feet. A cloud seemed to have settled over the dwarf, and all his movements were heavy and dull. Shadrak slipped into view behind him, turning this way and that, pink eyes glittering scarlet in the sunlight. And that’s when it struck Shader: The storm still raged beyond the garden, but here, all was tranquil and calm as a perfect summer’s day.

  Inside, he was greeted by the smell of must and sulfur. To the right, the antechamber opened onto an enormous circular room with balconied levels rising all the way to the roof. Each was crammed with bookshelves, and the floor space of the lower level accommodated dozens of desks. Shining crystal globes were suspended from silver chains hanging down from the distant ceiling. There were people browsing the book cases, and still more bent over the desks, with stacks of books and papers before them. The man with the tall hat was leaning on a counter sharing a joke with the librarian. He looked round briefly, but Shader was already turning away.

  On the opposite side of the antechamber, there was an impossibly vast hall dominated by displays of skeletons, some human, but most of giant beasts. Some
were four-legged, with long sinuous necks, while others stood upright and had cavernous maws lined with sword-like teeth.

  The antechamber continued past both rooms to a reception area. A young girl with pigtails looked up from the desk and studied Shader with doleful eyes.

  “Master Are…” Who was it Aristodeus had told Nameless to ask for?

  “Straight ahead, second door on the left,” she said. “They’re expecting you.”

  Nameless’ footsteps echoed up behind. “I can hardly wait,” he grumbled.

  “Good,” Shadrak said. “Pleased to hear it. Sooner we get this over with, sooner we can stick that bastard Gandaw and go home.”

  The girl’s eyes widened for an instant but then resumed their scrutiny of the three.

  “Thank you,” Shader said, and led the way along a carpeted corridor where raised voices spilled from an open door.

  “… you’re missing the point,” Aristodeus was saying, every word punctuated by a dull thump.

  “No, it is you who are missing the point: the point of your swollen-headed hubris!” The second voice was a lilting bass, stressing the consonants like a declaiming actor.

  “That the door, you reckon?” Shadrak said with a thin smile.

  “Have you no logic?”—Aristodeus’s voice again. “If your so-called magic is drawn from the dreams of the Cyn…” He trailed off as Shader moved to the doorway. “Oh, you’re here.” The philosopher shook his head and turned away. “Nothing like taking your time when everyone’s depending on you.”

  “It’s your game,” Shader said, edging into the room so that Nameless and Shadrak could enter. “I’m just the pawn, remember?”

  The other man in the room laughed. “Aren’t we all? In his inflated mind, at least.”

  He was half a head taller than Shader, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested. Salt and pepper hair crowned his head in twisted spikes, and his beard was a braided trident. He threw out an arm in an expansive gesture, spreading his crimson cloak like the wings of a bat. The air about his fingers shimmered, and a staff appeared in his grip.

  “In case you haven’t noticed—” Aristodeus clicked his fingers three times before letting out a long breath and going to stare out of the window. “—the very worlds are being unwoven. You think that’s a natural storm coming in from the Perfect Peak? You think it’s magical?” He sneered the last word and peered over his shoulder at Shader. “Master Arecagen here thinks a bit of psychic self-defense will see it off!”

  “That is not what—”

  “Uh, uh, uh,” Aristodeus cut him off, wagging his finger.

  Arecagen tensed, his knuckles whitening around the staff.

  “Call it a semantic issue, if you like,” Aristodeus said, “but it makes no difference. You draw power from the Cynocephalus, from the raw material of his dreams, yes?”

  The wizard sighed through clenched teeth.

  “Well, let me tell you—” Aristodeus strolled back over, taking in Shadrak and Nameless with his sparkling eyes before coming face to face with Arecagen. “—Gandaw’s Unweaving will pull the rug out from under you. Everything will be undone, Arecagen. Everything. No Cynocephalus, no magic. Simplex sigillum veri, my friend. The logic of the position is mine.”

  Simplicity is the sign of truth. Shader had heard the phrase a hundred times from the philosopher’s lips, but it struck him this time like a slap in the face. Isn’t that what he should be doing with the spiritual life, paring back all that wasn’t essential and getting to the heart of the matter?

  “… and where’s your evidence?” Arecagen was saying, punctuating the words by rapping the heel of his staff against the polished floorboards.

  Shader tuned him out, struggled to finish his thought. Isn’t it what Ludo had meant by moving from the head to the heart? Didn’t Nous demand simplicity, like that of a child? It was complexity that had stayed his hand atop the Homestead, a refusal to see things in black and white. Good and evil was what it came down to, and by failing to act, had he colluded with the latter? It was a revelation, hearing the Aeternam phrase here, but whether it was from Nous, the Demiurgos, or his own mind, he couldn’t say. In any case, the message was clear. He needed to be more decisive, more inflexible in doing the right thing. But how you could discern—”

  “Deacon? Come back to us, boy,” Aristodeus was saying.

  Shader blinked his eyes back into focus.

  “Look, Arecagen,” Aristodeus said, “why not turn your magic on the Perfect Peak? At least it might create a distraction and keep eyes off of Shader.”

  “Impeccable logic,” Arecagen said with a shake of his head. “Even if we could penetrate the scarolite, which we could not, Gandaw has harnessed the power of Eingana, if you are to be believed. What chance do you think magic drawn from the Cynocephalus would have against his mother? No, defense is our best chance.”

  “Balderdash!” Aristodeus said. He was red in the face and clearly not used to being argued with in this way.

  Arecagen raised a placating hand. “We must agree to disagree. I’ll not hinder your efforts, and you, I trust, will allow me mine.”

  “The enemy of my enemy…” Nameless said. There was no inflection in his voice, none of his usual exuberance. He sounded defeated to Shader, half asleep.

  “If I must,” Aristodeus said. “I’d prefer it if we sang from the same hymn sheet—” He shot Shader a fake smile. “—but needs must. I take it you will honor our agreement, in spite of our disagreement?”

  “How long will it take?” Arecagen cast a wary eye over the tubes and packages heaped on the desk.

  “An hour at most. I would have said once a month, but things being as they are, we may not make it to a second feeding.”

  “Just today,” Aristodeus said, “and then you can find somewhere else. Clear my desk, and shut the door on your way out. Gentlemen.” He gave a stiff bow and left.

  “Typical,” Aristodeus muttered as he pushed the door to. “They plan to expand the Academy’s magical shielding over the entire city, as if that will do a damned thing. The senate’s just as bad. This idea of yours,” he said to Nameless, “getting the senate to send their legions against the Perfect Peak—they’re going to take some persuading. They’re convinced they’ve appeased Gandaw over the years by suppressing religion, just as he did on Earth. What they fail to realize is that he’s way beyond that now. They’re just assuming he’s going to do the same as he did in the Global Tech days. And the idea that he’d save their city and wipe out all else is too absurd for words. Just think, nothing left in existence save the Perfect Peak and New Jerusalem drifting in the void of all voids until Gandaw gets round to his megalomaniac fiat. And even if he doesn’t spare the city, as far as they’re concerned, nothing can get past the Cyclopean Walls. Why is it so difficult to understand that there won’t be any walls if everything’s unwoven?”

  Shader glanced at Nameless. The dwarf stood still as a statue.

  “Deluded bunch of Romanophiles,” Aristodeus said.

  “What’s that, boy love?” Shadrak said, starting to poke about the room, looking in drawers and cupboards. “You old robey types are all the same.”

  “Pretentious, is what it is,” Aristodeus said. “If I thought it would do any good, I’d have gone to them myself, but I have more than enough on my plate with that bloody woman of yours.”

  “Rhiannon?” Shader said. “She’s her own woman, not mine. Where is she?”

  “You’re right there,” Aristodeus said. He closed his eyes and drew in a long, slow breath. “Left her propping up a bar. She certainly knows how to drink.”

  He wasn’t wrong there, Shader thought. “Which bar? Where?”

  “Place called Dougan’s Diner, a roach-infested cesspit on 71st, north-south, not east-west.”

  Shader started for the door.

  “No, Deacon.” Aristodeus laid a hand on his shoulder. “You must try the senate. I’ve never had good relations with them; there’s a lot of history between us,
but you may have a chance. Go to them, tell them what you’ve seen, what’s coming. If they resist, reason with them. Please don’t let all those endless lessons I gave you be for nothing.”

  “Don’t sweat on it, mate,” Shadrak said. “I’ll get her. Even the mother of all bitches has got to be better than listening to anymore of this shit, and I don’t reckon my presence at this shogging senate is gonna do us any favors.” Before anyone could stop him, the assassin was out the door.

  “Whatever you do,” Aristodeus called after him, “don’t eat the food.”

  “But Nameless?” Shader said. The dwarf still hadn’t moved since they’d set foot in the room.

  “Leave him with me,” Aristodeus said. “I’ll tube-feed him, and he’ll be… I was going to say back to normal. The stuff in those packets is something of an Ancient world miracle. He’ll be fueled up and ready to go for a couple of days or so. After that, I’ll look into a more long-term formula. Map,” he demanded, holding out a hand.

  Shader gave it to him, and Aristodeus scanned it before jabbing it with a finger. “Senate building, plumb in the center of the spider’s web. All roads lead to Rome, as they used to say before the Reckoning. Now hurry.” He thrust the map back in Shader’s hand and ushered him through the door. “And keep your coat fastened. Last thing we need is for them to see your surcoat and assume the Monas is some variation on the Cross.”

  Shader opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but Aristodeus slammed the door in his face.

  HUNTED

  Fist-sized hail hammered against the rooftop, and sleet spewed across the purple stain spreading above New Jerusalem. Reminded Shadrak of the rotting flesh of Councilor Milhard back in Sarum. Scut had been stupid enough to wear the silk shirt that arrived in a package outside his door. Must’ve itched like the Abyss, but by the time he’d ripped it off, the mottling covered his entire upper body. Albert had treated it with enough poison to wipe out a small village. It was chilling how the poisoner watched like an excited kid through the window and patted himself on the back for a job well done. Chilling, but kind of satisfying. Even for a politician, Milhard was a jumped up little twat with a thing for the boys.