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 a
t 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 politician 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?”
Cadman had stopped counting at three; stopped breathing too. “As a medical man,” he stood and opened the door a crack to make sure Gaston wasn’t within earshot, “I can assure you that anything you say to me will be held in the strictest confidence. Regrettably, I’ve seen nor heard nothing of Jarmin since his little visit, and I only knew about that due to the indiscretion of one of the staff.”
“Who?”
“Forgive me if I don’t say.” Cadman stared pointedly at the chair Lallia had recently occupied.
“Thank you, Doctor.” Zara Gen pried Cadman’s fingers from the door and held it open for him. Does he suspect anything? Four, five, six—”And good luck with the templum.”
Cadman shuffled along the corridor to catch up with Gaston. The lad was frowning back towards Zara Gen’s office.
“I’m starting to think I made a big mistake coming here.”
Farm-boy in the big city? Whiskerless youth swimming with the sharks of Sahulian political life? Oh, you poor witless child, “mistake” doesn’t even begin to cover it. “Nonsense, Gaston. I’d say your arrival has been most fortuitous; a gift from Ain, you might say.” If you were a dumb savage with offal for a brain. “Come, my carriage is outside. Let’s take a look at these knights of yours, and then we’ll pop over to the templum. Tell me,” he said, putting an arm around Gaston’s shoulder, “did your Mr. Shader ever speak about the legend of the Lost?”
“The Elect knights sent from Aeterna to aid the Gray Abbot?”
“Quite, quite. I have a friend who has rather a passion for the subject. You really should meet him; I think he’ll enjoy you immensely. But first, allow me to take a look at that nose of yours. Can’t have you going around with stitches like that. People might think it’s my handiwork.”
THE MAWGS BENEATH
The five assassins trailed Shadrak like ducklings following their mother on their first swim. Hard to believe these men were killers, a couple of them big names in their own narrow orbits. He took them on a winding tour of the Maze, keeping them as far from the cluster of chambers at the hub as he could. It was bad enough bringing his fellow Sicarii to the tunnels at all, but there was no way he was going to share his greatest secrets—not unless he wanted to end up as one of the bloated corpses bobbing down the Soulsong. The guild was a brotherhood of assassins, right enough, but assassins were like the sharks in the tales Kadee used to tell him: one sign of weakness and you’re finished.
Uniform passages of shimmering metal were splashed with blue light from the glob
es set into the ceiling that flickered on as they approached and winked out as they passed.
Shadrak held up a hand to halt the group. They’d arrived at another crossroads and he needed to inspect the numerals above each of the four arches.
“Still know where we are?” Porius asked, looming over him, perspiration trickling from his bald head and running down the gullies of his face. “Only I was hoping to be back by now; wife’s on her own with the girls.”
Shadrak visualized his map, mentally ticking off the corridors they’d passed through. They were almost at the edges of the area he’d committed to memory and there seemed no sign of the tunnels ending. “Think you can find your way back? One less won’t make no difference. I’m sure Master Rabalath will understand.” He was renowned for his fatherly concern and compassion. Last bloke stupid enough to ignore an order had his guts pulled out and draped around his neck like a scarf.
Porius peered back down the stark passageway with nothing to distinguish it from the dozens they’d already navigated. Nothing but the numerals, that is, but they were meaningless without the legend Shadrak had discovered at the heart of the Maze, and he wasn’t about to reveal that to anyone.
“Nah, reckon I’ll see this through. Couldn’t live with myself if I left you with this bunch.”
Shadrak raised an eyebrow, cast a look over his shoulder at the rest of the group. “Thanks for that,” he said without any trace of enthusiasm. “Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.”
Shadrak had always reckoned Porius utterly unsuited to the life of an assassin: he was a family man, devoted to his wife and daughters. He’d always refused to be drawn on the reasons for his choice of profession. Maybe he’d fallen on hard times, or taken the law into his own hands only to find there was no going back afterwards. Whatever the case, Porius weren’t your typical Sicarii. He’d started his own bakery a few years back, and spent the early hours kneading dough and loading the oven. His Sicarii duties were conducted in the afternoon, and very rarely at night when the children were sleeping. He’d endured his fair share o’ crap from some of the other journeymen, who would every now and again challenge his position in the guild. When Master Rabalath told them to do something about it if they didn’t like it, the sensible ones let the matter drop. The others were never seen again, ‘cept maybe if you were a fish. Porius weren’t scum like the rest of ‘em, but neither was he a pushover.
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