No, Lily belonged to her. Lily was Verity’s brother’s daughter.
Verity’s brother was dead.
And that—that meant everything.
Verity hadn’t been planning to reply. If the visitor hadn’t come, she would have been the Director’s secretary still, in mind and deed—quietly doing her duty. Then, that morning, everything had changed.
It had all begun a few hours ago. The Director had sent her down to the tunnels, to welcome a guest from the world outside. Verity had tried not to think of Lily as she walked those ancient corridors. Tried not to remember leading Lily to the door—the only way out of the city by foot. She had hoped that the old Director would let Lily travel by boat, and leave by the secret locks used by the riverboat captains. But the old Director was firm—Lily was to have no companions except for the boy, no help at all.
All that time, that long walk, Verity had not spoken to her niece once. Lily must have thought her so cold, when all the time she knew that if she spoke at all, she would have broken down and told her everything.
So when she went to the door this morning, heard the sound of knocking, she had broken into a run. Maybe it would be Lily, maybe fate was being kind to her at last. She had turned the key with a trembling hand.
She flung the door open. It wasn’t Lily. It was a scowling man in russet-red robes.
“Finally,” Father Wolfram said, pushing past her. “Take me to the Director.”
It had been a long walk back to the Directory, and an even longer wait as the red-robed monk had his private conference with the Director. Greaves had been summoned, the Director had canceled all other appointments, and still the door to his chamber had remained closed. In the end, Verity had gathered an armful of papers and quietly eased the door open. The old Director had never minded her doing this, and her curiosity was overwhelming. She hadn’t seen a member of the Order of the Lost since she was barely more than a girl. She imagined that she and Wolfram were the only people from Giseth in the entire city.
The sight that met her eyes was almost comical. Wolfram was pacing around the Director’s desk, his limping gait doing little to disguise his anger. In contrast, the Director sat at his ease, his green eyes gleaming in the candlelight.
“Father Wolfram, calm yourself,” said the Director, his tone always reasonable. “I assure you, all of our efforts are going into finding the boy. But this is not Giseth. The people of Agora are strong-willed, and there are many places he could be hiding.”
“You told me you ruled this city, Director,” Wolfram replied, bitterly. “That in serving your interests, I could prevent disaster falling upon my own land. If I had known that you have so little power…”
“Power is a curious thing, Father,” the Director replied, with deadly calm. “Sometimes quiet observation is just as potent. I would have thought that a man such as yourself, who normally holds to a vow of silence, would realize that.”
Verity suppressed a smile as Wolfram grunted in response. She was about to make her presence known, when the Director caught her eye. She had seen that look when he had been one of the former Director’s servants. When he had been no more than Mr. Snutworth, a useful spy. It was a look that was very calm, entirely reasonable, and made it clear that you were not to interrupt.
Very slightly, she nodded her head.
Wolfram did not seem to notice this exchange, and continued his complaints.
“I have tried patience, Director,” he growled, “and the only result has been to waste time. I brought you the boy, and in return, all you sent to me was a letter saying that the girl must be found as well. I have spent weeks tramping across Giseth, searching every village. I know that Sister Elespeth of the forest Brethren knows more than she is telling, but she refuses to talk to me, and she is a difficult woman to find.” Wolfram struck the Director’s mahogany desk with his fist, scattering papers. “I have sacrificed much for this search. My own village of Aecer is in chaos without my guidance; half of my fellow monks believe that the Nightmare has addled my wits; my vow of silence is in tatters…”
“All for the greatest possible cause,” the Director said, mildly. “But surely, if Miss Lily’s goal was the Cathedral of the Lost, that would have been the best place to search?”
Wolfram grunted.
“I tried, after my initial searches came to nothing. I even commandeered a riverboat from its task of bringing food to Agora to speed my journey through the marshes. But the porter turned me away, claimed he had seen no such girl, and none of the Order were willing to talk.”
Snutworth raised an eyebrow.
“Could you not prevail upon the girl’s father? I understand, from our records, that he is a member of your Order, residing in the Cathedral?”
Wolfram waved a hand dismissively.
“Brother Thomas was dead by the time I arrived. I do not think that we can rely upon my fellow monks to retrieve her…”
Verity hadn’t heard any more. It had taken all of her self-control not to drop the papers she was holding. She had left the room without a sound, not caring if the Director saw her go.
Her brother was dead. Her magnificent, perfect brother was dead, and they had treated his death like a footnote. She felt the last ties of loyalty snap. The old Director—the real Director, not this treacherous usurper—was gone. She had no reason to stay anymore. No reason to remain trapped in this rotting old building, serving a man who looked at her as though she were nothing more than a tool.
Now she was about to commit a crime. She was about to commit the most dreadful betrayal, to break every rule that she had ever followed, everything her brother had beseeched her to do when he sent her to Agora nearly fifteen years ago.
But she would do it without a shred of regret, because her brother was dead. And now Lily was her only family.
“Miss Verity?”
Verity emerged from her thoughts with a start. The Chief Inspector had stood up, and was pointing to the clock on the wall.
“It is now the second hour. Should I interrupt? I have no wish to keep the Director waiting.”
She looked at Greaves, his craggy face full of concern, and made herself smile.
“Do go in, Chief Inspector,” she said, brightly. “I’m sure the Director would appreciate the interruption.”
He returned her smile, a little hesitantly, as the sound of Wolfram’s shouting rattled the door.
“I can certainly believe that,” he said. “But wouldn’t you prefer to announce me?”
Verity picked up the papers on her desk.
“No,” she said, trying to keep her voice flat and efficient. “I’m afraid I have other work to attend to.”
And before her face could betray her, before her shell could crack, she turned on her heel, and walked out of her office for the last time.
* * *
Every step she took felt more final. She knew, at the moment, she could still turn around, still return to her office, where she was safe. She had hidden in this building for nearly fifteen years. She had been the Director’s personal secretary for ten. For half her life the Directory of Receipts, a building that inspired fear in every Agoran, had been home to her.
It would have been so simple to turn back, to give up. What was her brother to her, anymore? She hadn’t heard from him in years.
But he had been the only family she had.
No, that wasn’t true. She had family. She had a niece. A wonderful niece, an extraordinary young woman. Her brother’s daughter. And right now, the Director and his men were looking for her.
She had neglected Lily for too long. The least she could do was to make sure Lily’s friends found her first. And there was only one way to do that.
Verity made her way through the endless corridors with practiced ease, and in little time, she came across the right door. The room beyond was like so many in the Directory, miles of shelving stuffed with ledgers and books, a record of every trade made in Agora since its foundation. Row after row of fa
cts and rules. No one ever opened these books, just knowing that they were there was powerful enough. The air was thick with dust and secrets.
She knew what she was looking for, but was not quite certain where she would find it. She walked between the stacked shelves. No, not here. These books were all printed. Too new. She took a left turn, passing a few huddled clerks with quiet authority.
There, that was more like it. She was deep into the bookshelves now, where the older records were kept—the ones that were handwritten with spidery ink. Deeper and deeper she went. Here the lamps were only sporadically lit, and were set high up on the walls, for fear that one would set the precious books alight.
For one strange moment, Verity fantasized about taking one of those candles down, and holding it to the nearest ledger. She pictured herself waiting as it caught fire, and then the next, and the next, the whole Directory going up in flames, giving everyone in the city a fresh start. Debtors and elite alike, free from the tyranny of their past.
But it was only a fantasy, and she had just seen the book that she was looking for.
With fumbling fingers, she prized it out of the shelves. It was a thick, old volume, loosely bound in brown leather, and she leafed through it, hurriedly. She found what she needed, and with a single tug, ripped the page from the book, tucking it among the other papers she was carrying. She wished, not for the first time, that she had pockets in her skirt or blouse, but this would have to do. She returned the book to the shelves with a furtive shove. The bookshelf wobbled for a moment, but aside from a shower of fresh dust, there was nothing to show that she had ever been there.
Her heart pounded as she traced her steps back through the stacks, trying to remember her route. Was it left here? Or right? It had been so easy when she had come in. But of course, she hadn’t been carrying anything out of the ordinary. She hadn’t been so close to freedom.
She turned the corner, and stopped.
Just ahead, in a row she hadn’t passed before, a tall, stately woman in a businesslike dress was taking down a book from a top shelf. Verity stepped back, out of sight. She recognized that woman—Lady Astrea, the Lord Chief Justice, the most powerful woman in the city. She was second only to the Director in rank, and yet here she was, struggling to take down books without assistance, in an obscure corner of the Directory.
Verity almost laughed. So many secrets, everywhere. That was what living in the Directory had done to her. She had seen too much, known too much, until in the end, nothing mattered at all.
“I wonder what she’s looking for,” whispered someone behind her. “I do hope it is something important. The Lord Chief Justice shouldn’t be wasting her time on filing.”
Verity felt her blood turn to ice. She knew that voice all too well. Slowly, she turned.
“Director,” she said. One word. She knew that there was no point in trying to explain herself. Lying to him was a waste of breath.
“Miss Rita,” he said, using the short, familiar version of her name and smiling, pleasantly. “I hope I am not intruding on your work, but I wished to consult you.”
Verity paused for a moment too long. She tried to respond instantly, to pretend nothing was amiss. But she could tell that the Director had noticed that pause. His eyes were not as friendly as his smile.
“Of course, Director, I…” she tried to think of something to say. “I thought that this was a good time to do some paperwork, as you were in a meeting…”
“Indeed, most enterprising,” the Director replied, walking away from Lady Astrea and motioning for Verity to follow, so they could talk without being overheard. Wretchedly, Verity obeyed. “Father Wolfram and Chief Inspector Greaves are enjoying each other’s company even now,” the Director continued, “but I had no wish to hear the good Father’s story a second time.”
He laughed, lightly, as though making a joke. Verity decided against forcing herself to smile. Far better to be bland, to slip under his notice. That was how she had lasted this long. Even the former Director was a man best avoided.
The Director looked at her quizzically, and sighed.
“Dear me, I hope that I shall find your sense of humor eventually, Miss Rita,” he said. “I know that I could not face my duties without it. Now, about this paperwork, I think I should check it through, just in case there is anything that I have not dealt with.”
He plucked the papers from her arms before she could react. Her eyes widened. She felt her pulse begin to race.
“There is no need, sir—it is entirely trivial,” she said, hurriedly. The Director barely looked up as he flicked through.
“No detail is entirely trivial, Miss Rita. Surely you must know that.”
“But sir, I…” her throat dried as he continued. And then, he pulled out the torn page.
He stared at it. The paper was old, and smaller than the other documents, clearly not part of the pile. Verity couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. All she could hope for was that he wouldn’t realize what he was looking at.
The Director smiled, and put the page back among the papers.
“Most delectable, I’m sure,” he said, mildly. “Yes, it seems that everything is as it should be.”
He handed the papers back, and walked away, leaving Verity standing in the storeroom.
In a few moments, she would walk out of that room, down to the tunnels, and leave the Directory. She wouldn’t make a fuss. She would be as calm and authoritative as ever, and no one would challenge her.
But through all of this, she would barely notice anything around her. Because all she could think of was the Director’s smile. Not a false smile, something far worse.
It had been a smile of contentment, and triumph.
* * *
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Wolfram asked, sourly, as the Director reentered the office. The Director walked to his desk, without speaking.
“In a sense,” he replied, at last. “I found what I was expecting to find, though perhaps a little sooner than planned. But this is all to the good.”
“Director,” Greaves got up, breaking his silence. “I feel I must protest. Is it really necessary to spend our resources hunting for Mark and Lily? My receivers are overstretched as it is dealing with the Crede situation, and it would seem that Lily is not even within the bounds of the city.”
“You know nothing,” Wolfram muttered with contempt.
“No, no, Father Wolfram, the Chief Inspector has a fair point,” the Director said, silencing Wolfram with a look. “Greaves, you will concentrate on Crede. Perhaps some kind of meeting would be appropriate; we have ignored him for too long. As for you, Wolfram,” the Director’s tone became more confidential, “I think that we will soon have the answer to all of your concerns.”
“How can you be certain?” Wolfram asked, clearly ruffled by the Director’s calm. The Director sat back behind his desk.
“Because of a page from a very old book, Wolfram,” he said, quietly. “If I am right, it will do a great deal of our work for us.”
Greaves looked from the monk to the Director. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on, and that worried him. But then again, he had nothing but worries nowadays.
“I must say, Director,” he said, “I would be grateful for such a page. If I may ask, what did it say?”
The Director looked at him then, but if there was a secret in those inscrutable eyes, Greaves could not see it.
“Nothing at all, Chief Inspector,” he replied. “At least, nothing that would appear significant. And that is the beauty of it. If used at the right moment, nothing can be the most powerful thing in the world.”
Greaves looked at the Director, the man who had been a servant just a few years ago, and now sat behind the mahogany desk, ruler of Agora. If anyone knew about power, it was him.
It was not a comforting thought.
CHAPTER NINE
The Legend
MISS VERITY was just as Mark remembered her.
She had arrived at
the Temple without warning, in the midst of a fierce downpour, clutching Pete’s note, and asking to be hidden from the receivers. By the time Ben had fetched Mark, she was already sitting quietly in the cellar room with Laud and Theo, dry but still shaking, as though her world had fallen apart.
Mark stared. She looked so like Lily that he was amazed he hadn’t noticed the resemblance the first time they had met. She was a little more disheveled than he remembered, and definitely more apprehensive, but she was still the woman who had freed him from his cell, and banished him from his home. The same woman he had seen in Lily’s dreams, the aunt who had brought her to Agora. The woman who had, in her own way, started it all.
To her credit, she didn’t waste time. As soon as Mark had closed the door, she began to talk.
She spoke softly, but clearly—without trying to justify her own actions, or excuse them. She told them about her role as the Director’s secretary, and how the Directory had changed ever since Snutworth had taken over. She talked of the receivers training for battle, and the increasing number of secret meetings. But most importantly, she talked about Lily. About how she had made it to the Cathedral of the Lost, and how she had vanished from the face of the earth.
“Vanished?” Laud asked, sharply. “You don’t mean…”
“Father Wolfram said that she had gone somewhere called ‘the Land Below,’ and the rest of the Order would not let him follow her. Wherever she is, I think she is safe, for now.”
“Wolfram is here?” Mark said, his heart sinking. Verity nodded.
“Yes, though he no longer abides by his vow of silence. To be honest, I’m not sure if the Order would recognize him as one of their own any longer.”
That gave Mark little comfort. All this time, he had been picturing Snutworth alone as his enemy. But Mark remembered Wolfram. He remembered that hard, unfeeling stare that seemed to drag out your inner thoughts, that absolute belief that only he knew what was truly right. Snutworth was disturbing because Mark had never been able to fathom his true motivations, but Wolfram was the opposite. His beliefs were his whole life, and right now, it seemed, he believed in Snutworth’s cause.
The Canticle of Whispers Page 10