The Canticle of Whispers

by David Whitley

  “Never mind about that!” Laud said, testily. “One man makes little difference. Tell us about this ‘Land Below.’”

  Verity nodded, but it was Mark she turned to.

  “I was the old Director’s private secretary for years,” she began, confidentially. “In all that time, he mentioned this land only once, after I had fetched him a certain book from the oldest library.” She reached down and pulled up the hem of her floor-length skirt to reveal a large patch sewn onto the inside, making a pocket. Carefully, she pulled out a single page, torn from a book, and held it out to Mark. “I think this might help.”

  Mark took the page. It was old and worn, covered in faint ink. He squinted at it.

  “Sugar … barley…” he blinked, trying to make out the words. “Is this a recipe? What does it mean?”

  Miss Verity smiled.

  “Some things need a little illumination, before they give up their meaning,” she said. “Hold it up near the lantern.”

  Cautiously, Mark did as instructed. As soon as the light shone through the old parchment, a few dark shapes that had looked like water stains resolved themselves into clarity.

  The Sozinhos possess both the door and the key to the Land Below, although they recognize only one.

  It seemed ridiculous. The Sozinhos weren’t involved in any ancient conspiracies—they were just musicians. This message made no sense at all.

  But it was a clue. At last, they had somewhere to start. And that was all they needed.

  * * *

  The rain was fierce as Mark, Laud, and Ben trudged through the sodden streets of the Leo District an hour later, cloaks and coats pulled up around their faces, their boots soaked through. Mark glanced at his companions, a little way ahead of him. It had been all they could do to keep Laud from setting out instantly, without coat or hat, despite the terrible weather. Even now, his walk was full of tension, and though Ben was calmer, she was no less determined to follow this up. Theo had wanted to join them, and nearly had until Ben had pointed out that someone needed to mind the Temple. As they left, the doctor had been asking Verity to repeat her story, just in case there was anything they had missed.

  Then again, their sudden energy was hardly surprising. Mark was already frantic with worry, and for him, it had been barely two months since he had last seen Lily. But for those at the Temple, their friend and leader had been lost for nearly a year and half.

  Mark adjusted his hat, trying to prevent a trickle of water finding its way down the back of his neck. It was not particularly cold—this was late spring rain—but it was pervasive. To Mark’s surprise, he thought of it as “growing rain.” In Giseth he had welcomed storms like this, knowing that the following day he wouldn’t have to water the crops. It was a strangely happy memory, one of the few times in his recent life when everything had been very simple.

  No, now that he thought about it, his life had never been simple. Not since he had first met Lily, when they had both been nothing more than servants, back in the tower of Count Stelli. Even then, it had looked like his life was mapped out, as the apprentice of Dr. Theophilus—until the day they had exchanged lives. It had been such a simple decision at the time; Lily and he had swapped masters because he was scared to venture out into the city, and Lily longed to escape the Astrologer’s Tower. That had been the first time they had parted since they had known each other, the first time their lives divided onto two paths that had never quite become one again, even after all the time they spent together in Giseth. What would have happened if they hadn’t swapped places? Would Lily have had his life, and been the prodigy who fell from grace, giving Snutworth the keys to his power? Could Mark have started the Almshouse, and inspired Crede’s revolution? Somehow he doubted it; most likely they would have both been unrecognizable by now. Perhaps the Directory would never have noticed them, and they would be leading dull, predictable lives, with no more knowledge of prophecies, charters, and other lands than most of Agora. Perhaps some other children would have taken their place, or perhaps nothing would have happened, and Agora would have continued on the same as it always had, waiting for the Judges who never came.

  The trouble was, Mark wasn’t entirely sure which life he would have preferred.

  The Sozinhos’ large, comfortable house loomed through the driving rain. Mark banished his musings to the back of his mind, and hurried to catch up with his friends, just as Benedicta pulled the bell cord.

  The door was answered by an old servant, and once they had introduced themselves, he quickly ushered them in.

  “The master and mistress will be pleased to see you, Miss Benedicta,” the old man said as he took their coats. “I hear they have been missing your visits.”

  “This is rather more than a social call,” Laud muttered.

  “In which case, sir,” the servant said, with unflappable calm, “perhaps I should show you in right away. I am under instructions not to disturb their rehearsals, but I suspect that they will make an exception on this occasion.”

  They followed the old man through the corridors of the grand house. As they progressed, Mark began to hear the sound of singing, one deep baritone, the other a pure, high soprano. Something about it comforted him and even seemed to soothe Laud’s nervous energy. By the time the servant pushed open the doors to the practice room, Mark felt more ready to be sociable.

  Signor and Signora Sozinho were sitting side by side at the harpsichord, both singing, their voices swooping and caressing each other. As they sang, their hands darted in and out on the keys. Even the rain drumming on the windows was reduced to a gentle patter that seemed to provide an accompaniment all its own. Mark knew that he should speak, that there was no time to lose. But just for a moment, he was lost in the music, and wouldn’t have broken it for anything.

  The old servant coughed. The music stopped; Signora Sozinho turned her head, and her eyes widened in surprise.

  “Carissimo, look!”

  Her husband blinked, and then a great smile came across his face.

  “Miss Benedicta, Mr. Laudate, and…” he stopped, and stared. “By all the stars … Mr. Mark! I thought you had vanished from the city forever!” He jumped up, smoothing back his graying hair with a flourish. “You should have given word that you were coming! We must have tea fetched. I shall ring for the maid…”

  “Thank you, Signor, but—” Mark was overwhelmed. He had liked the Sonzinhos well enough when he had known them, but that had been long ago, in a different life. He had expected Ben to do all the talking.

  “We never believed in your disgrace,” the Signor interrupted. “No doubt you have been in hiding. Very wise. After this little trouble with Crede is over, the city will be ready for a bright future.”

  “I think it is terrible that so many of the elite believe that the Temple and the Wheel are no different,” the Signora added, turning to Ben. “As if we would be patrons of Crede’s army! Of course, we understand now why you haven’t been visiting, Crede must be causing you so much trouble…”

  “Signor, Signora,” Ben said, trying to stop them. “We appreciate this, but we need to ask you about—”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” the Signor said, “we want to hear all of your news, but we must sing the rest of this song for you first. We have written it especially for the latest gala, but we’d much rather have the opinion of people who are not trading for our services—we get a much more honest reaction…”

  Laud closed his eyes, his hands curling into fists at his sides. Hastily, Mark reached into the inner pocket of his coat, and pulled out Verity’s crumpled page.

  “Signor Sozinho, we’ve got to ask you something. It’s about this page, we think—”

  “Not that we object to the employment,” Signor Sozinho continued, blithely. “The elite are holding more and more parties nowadays. I believe they are attempting to ignore the Crede situation, but it is only a matter of time before…”

  The Signor didn’t get any further. In one movement, Laud yanked t
he page out of Mark’s hands, grabbed a lantern from a wall bracket, and pushed both into the Signor’s face.

  “Read it,” he said. “Please.”

  Puzzled, and temporarily silenced, Signor Sozinho took the paper and looked at the hidden writing, as Laud held the lantern. Slowly, all of the good cheer left his face.

  “Leave us,” he said to the servant, who swiftly withdrew. He beckoned to his wife, who also read it over his shoulder, her confused frown growing deeper.

  Laud looked at them both, putting down the lantern.

  “We need to know how to reach the Land Below, Signor, Signora,” he said, levelly. “We think Lily is down there.”

  Mark watched the Signor’s face. He was obviously trying to keep all emotion out of it, but he looked deeply troubled.

  “Lily is in Naru?” the Signor said, dully, sitting back at the piano stool. The Signora fumbled with the edge of her sleeves.

  “I had thought that it was only an old family legend,” she said. The Signor smiled, sadly.

  “Ah, carissima, it is. A bedtime story. The land of Naru, a world of secrets deep beneath our feet. A wonderful fantasy.” He looked up at Laud, regaining his composure. “I’m sorry, but whoever has given you this is playing a trick on you. It doesn’t exist.”

  Laud’s expression darkened.

  “I have the greatest respect for your musical talents, Signor,” Laud said, “but you are a terrible liar.”

  A flash of anger crossed the Signor’s face.

  “You think I would lie to you? After all I owe to Lily? This tale is a fantasy. Everyone knows that there are no lands outside the city.”

  “Everyone is obviously mistaken,” Laud replied, sharply. “Everyone should be prepared to accept that there are stranger things going on in this city than everyone thinks.”

  “Laud, perhaps we should…” Mark tried to interrupt, but the young man waved him aside. The Signor’s lip curled in response.

  “If you are going to be childish, Mr. Laudate, perhaps we should wait for another occasion so we can discuss this like adults.”

  “Because, of course, claiming that Lily is trapped in a fairytale land is entirely plausible…”

  As Laud and the Signor grew more heated, Mark noticed Benedicta out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to be making signs with her hands, while staring significantly at the Signora.

  “I don’t know what to make of all this,” the Signor muttered. “You come here unannounced, burst into our parlor, drip water on the harpsichord,…”

  The Signora nodded, making an answering sign, and both she and Benedicta quietly got up to leave the room.

  “Lily’s life could be in danger, and you’re thinking about water stains?” Laud shouted.

  Mark, shaking his head, followed the women out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  He found the pair relaxing in a pair of armchairs in the anteroom, being served tea by the old servant. The servant barely looked up when Mark approached, but silently filled a third cup. Benedicta smiled.

  “Glad you joined us, Mark. It was getting a little tiring in there.”

  Mark winced, apologetically.

  “I’m sorry, Signora,” he said. “I don’t think Laud was in the mood for conversation.”

  The Signora smiled, sadly.

  “My husband will let no one talk to him at the moment. He worries too much about the current situation,” she shook her head. “A dreadful time is coming. There is already conflict in the streets. Such times are not good for musicians who rely on the elite. I cannot see us composing revolutionary anthems. So my carissimo was ready for an argument. As for your brother, Ben,” she looked toward the door, where Laud’s shouts were growing louder by the second. “I think he needs to let some of his anger flow; it is how he expresses his concern.”

  “He’s very worried about Lily,” Mark said. “We all are.”

  The Signora nodded, a curious smile on her face.

  “Perhaps, but not in the same way, I think…” she said, thoughtfully. “A lot of memories are coming back today.” She looked at Benedicta. “The language of signs … I remember that. Not a happy memory.”

  “We always knew how to talk without speaking,” Ben said, simply, and then leaned over to touch the Signora’s hand. “Signora, we really do need your help. Lily helped you, when you thought you had no future. Can’t you do the same thing?”

  Mark watched the Signora’s face. She seemed to be fighting some inner restraint. And then, quietly, she spoke.

  “It is such a strange tale,” she said. “My husband told me when we were first married, but I never truly believed it.”

  Mark reached to pick up his teacup.

  “Believe me,” he said, adding sugar, “you get used to that feeling quickly when we’re around.”

  The Signora laughed.

  “That is true.” She looked up and around at the room. “You would think that this fine house would be enough for the Sozinhos, no? Perhaps it is, for we do not live in the other two houses that we own. One of them, I did live in, for many years.” She frowned, drawing her shawl a little tighter as though a cold wind had started to blow. “That was where you first met me, dear Benedicta, where I spent those unhappy years, away from my carissimo. But the third is the oddest of all.” She frowned. “It is an old house, ancient as my husband’s family, full of endless corridors and secret doors. But family tradition says that its greatest secret is a way to leave the city itself, and travel down to Naru.” She shook her head. “I have never been to that house myself. Neither has my husband, except to check that the locks are secure. But perhaps…” She brightened. “Verso, one of our servants, worked in the University libraries for many years. He tells me that he spent some time researching our family history. Maybe he would know if there is any truth in the tale.”

  Mark felt his heart sink.

  “And where do we need to go to find him?” Mark said, wearily predicting another slog through the rain, another obstacle before they could start to do some good.

  “Not terribly far away, sir,” said the old servant.

  Slowly, Mark turned his head. He hadn’t really looked at the servant before. He was an elderly man; he must have seen more than eighty summers, and was clearly not in the best of health. But there was a lively intelligence in those rheumy eyes.

  “Can you help them, Verso?” the Signora asked, quietly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was nothing but a story.”

  Verso bowed, slowly.

  “No story, ma’am,” he replied.

  Signora Sozinho looked at her servant and sighed, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  “I am glad to hear it,” she said. “Take whatever time you need.”

  Verso bowed again.

  “May I see the page, ma’am?” he asked. Signora Sozinho got up, passed it over, and then withdrew into the next room, as though glad to be rid of the responsibility. Verso read over the page once, and then held it up to the light for a moment. He frowned, pursing his lips. “Yes, yes, of course,” he said, slipping the page into his pocket. Then he looked from Mark to Ben, appraisingly, rubbing his chin with one gloved hand.

  “You wish to go to the Land Below?” He said, his voice a little less deferential than before. “Legends say that it is a dangerous journey, but the rewards are high. They say that every secret in the world is hidden there—quite a treasure trove, such power…”

  Ben interrupted him.

  “We don’t care about that,” she said, bluntly. “We’re going there because Lily’s there, and she’d do the same for us.”

  Verso stared down at them, a curiously searching look for an old steward. Most servants were worn down by a lifetime of submission.

  “You would risk such a journey for one person? Risk descending into a world that might not even exist, on the word of a single sentence and a servant who, for all you know, may be senile?” He frowned. “You would do that for her?”

  Mark want
ed to explain. He wanted to talk about how she had crossed a country to rescue him, when he had been taken. He wanted to explain how they had grown closer during their time in Giseth, and how he had no focus without her. He wanted to say how much she had done for Agora, how much the city needed her back.

  He didn’t. He said the first thing that came into his head. Which also happened to be the truest of all.

  “Of course. She’s our friend.”

  The old man nodded, pleased.

  “Then might I suggest you pack some belongings for an expedition? I fear it is not likely to be an easy journey…”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Thoughts

  THE CAVE WAS SMALL, claustrophobic, and deep beneath the Oracle’s throne room. It was also surprisingly cluttered with statues, ornaments, and wooden chests. The Conductor put down his lantern on the floor, casting his shadow across the room.

  “What is this place?” Lily asked, uneasily.

  “A memorial,” the Conductor replied, “a place of remembrance.”

  Lily shivered. The crushing disappointment of her audience with the Oracle two days before was still fresh in her mind; she was burning to start her search for the unknown secret, and the Conductor had brought her to a place that appeared to be a tomb.

  “At least, I believe it is,” the Conductor said, almost casually. “No one has been buried here for years, and truth be told, no one but the Oracle herself knows anything about those who rest here, but that is not important. At the moment, this chamber is the best place in all Naru, outside of the Resonant Throne, to hear the Canticle. The Canticle drifts around the lower caverns, but it often rests here.” The Conductor gave a half-smile. “Perhaps it finds the atmosphere appropriate. Listen.”

  Lily waited, but she could hear nothing but the thudding of her own heart. Idly, she began to look around the cave. Now she could make out the brass plaques, set at intervals around the walls. The first few were heavily tarnished, the later ones gleamed, but all but the last bore the same inscription. A name, and two dates. The span of their lives. Lily wandered closer to look. The newer plaques bore only one name and a sign, just like the engraving on a signet ring. But the oldest had two names, like her father, and like her, of course, though she had only discovered that a month ago. Before her father had signed his name on his last letter, she had never heard of anyone having more than one name. It seemed that it had been more common, long ago.